Stepping About the Shadows
by Green Eyed Lady
Summary: AU: At fifteen, Remus Lupin lives a life of no companionship, no future, and a hidden existence. That’s when Crossed Tailfeathers Inn gets some unconventional guests… Chapter Four posted.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: The following is not purely original fiction, but rather characters, settings, and situations as created by J.K. Rowling. I will return all characters in fairly decent condition. _No money is being made of this piece of fanfiction and can not be reproduced for any purposes but strictly private entertainment.  
  
_Author's Note: AU. Meaning _Alternate Universe_ - defies canon. **  
  
****

**Stepping About the Shadows**

Involuntarily, Remus's lip curled as he heaved the trunk in the Red Room. Everything of this guest screamed of power and magic and wealth - of so much money it brought out common sense. A practised, merchant-like eye picked out clasps of pure gold and silver (he'd _felt _the latter), deep black velvet and leather than showed no sign of wear; in other words, brand-new. The cloak already hung was rich and finely-made, and as Remus swiftly and silently unpacked the clothing he saw it was more of the same, and all wizard's robes, in every bleeding colour of the rainbow, no less. And that broom! Top of the line with every custom bell and whistle one could dream up. He had not seen this James Potter arrive, but knew that everything about the young man (the clothing was not quite adult-sized) might as well have been a neon sign flashing above him: 'VERY VERY RICH. THEIVES LOOK HERE.'  
  
Of course, it was one of the few truly useful reasons Remus was about Crossed Tailfeathers Inn. Sure, there had probably been a few things nicked from customers when Remus wasn't aware of intent, but when he knew a thief was about, they had yet to outsmart Remus Jacy Lupin.  
  
So he would probably end up watching the Ministry brat Potter's back, not that Potter would ever know. Remus did not expect thanks, or even especially desire it. His lone satisfaction would be in the irony, for his ideals were rather undeveloped in a world where all traces of his existence were hidden. No, he would just silently gloat as Potter left, not a Knut shorter due to larceny, because a wretched, despised _werewolf _had protected the son of a man who campaigned to have said protector killed.  
  
James Potter, with his perfect ivory-tower life, would go on none the wiser. And Remus would soon forget him in catering to other fortunate ones. And both would die some day. The end.  
  
Or so Remus believed that fateful evening.  
  
The Red Room was immaculately clean before, but in the few hours Potter had been here untidiness had slyly crept in. Remus went about the chores as best he could, with so little time, so little tools. Dinner would end soon.  
  
After straightening and cleaning the windows, Remus pulled a warmed brick from his pocket to heat the bed. It was unusually chilly for summer, mostly due to storms and the ceaseless rain, the damp of which may have penetrated other inns of Roasedaly - Dewdrop, Green Dragon, Espeliocal - but never the Lupins' Crossed Tailfeathers. Haunted and the owners with a rumoured werewolf child it may or may not be. Cold it was not and would never be.  
  
Belongings were sprawled over bedcovers so rumpled Potter might have well as slept on them. _People are such bloody slobs_, Remus reflected crossly, stacking a photograph album, Chocolate Frog cards, and a chess set on the nightstand. He tucked the brick at the foot of the bed, pulled the sheets and blankets straight, and set about collecting the loose photos to an orderly pile.   
  
Wizarding photographs, of course, brandied about carelessly. These showed rambunctious scenes and figures beaming and waving up at Remus. In spite of himself, Remus slowed as he glanced down and began to study them. Three boys his age, heads a contrast of two jet-black and one tow blond, playing a rockilling game of lets-jump-around-and-see-who-breaks-the-most-bones-and/or-first-falls-into-the-lake. The same two dark-haired boys with a fiery-headed girl, doing her best to look stern and failing completely. A mud-coloured dog in the midst of a bath given by the blond one and one with black hair and no glasses.  
  
'Hallo,' came a cautious voice behind Remus.  
  
To say Remus was startled was an understatement. To say he was ashamed and disgusted with himself was so grossly an understatement it bordered on downright falsehood. Nearly dropping the photos on the spot, he suppressed a gasp of surprise and turned to face the voice's owner.  
  
James Potter, as he undoubtedly was, in spite of his rather tousled looks, was not exactly what Remus had expected. He was a good few inches taller than Remus, with black hair that went beyond disheveled, large, round, and outright hideous black glasses, and a build that was neither slender nor burly. Still, he was the same of one of the boys in the pictures, and in spite of everything he was obviously an aristocrat and reeked of old, family gold, so there could be no mistake.  
  
'I beg your pardon, sir,' Remus said automatically, stunned, realising faintly that he had been seen but not quite registering the fact. 'I am not an intruder and only came to straighten your room.'  
  
The Ministry brat studied him, face blank as a newly-washed blackboard, and then suddenly gave a cordial smile. Remus felt as if he had stood before the judgment of all worlds and had been deemed worthy of some sort of Potterish approval or honour. 'I see. You're the Lupins' son?'  
  
Seeing Potter's composure reminded Remus of his own, or current lack of. 'No,' he lied coolly, and went on unfalteringly with the hateful words always given when dealing with such occasions. 'I work for the Lupins.'  
  
For nearly everyone else, it had always halted the conversation, as they put Remus into the proper place in their minds: the pale, light brown-haired boy was from a poor family and early an adult, and to them, simply their servant. It worked well to cut off more contact, and no questions were asked when they never saw him again.  
  
But in this case Potter stared a moment. _Of course_, Remus thought with no small envy. What did James Potter know of anyone his age earning their meals? Remus tried to discreetly slip the photos on the nightstand, for going through personal things as they were was one of the highest breeches of Crossed Tailfeathers service, and Remus reddened as he understood what he had done. But Potter's eyes followed him.  
  
In fact, Potter froze, looking worried. Anxiety seemed strangely at home on his features, unlike most children in his position.  
  
'Erm - those photographs…'  
  
Watching colour drain from his face, Remus waited, enjoying the prospect of watching Potter squirm.  
  
'I - I can see why you're no interested.' Potter laughed nervously. 'I get questions on them all the time. You see, erm, I purchased them from a novelty shop.' Remus smirked as Potter pronounced 'novelty' _no-velity_, as if the Muggle stores had an adjective pronounced differently than theirs. 'So… I'm not exactly sure how they work - some - some newfangled mechanics - '  
  
'There is no need for explanations, master Potter,' Remus said, feeling so wryly amused at his stumbling bitterness did not skulk into his thoughts at the title. 'I'm quite familiar with the wizarding world.' _And aspects of it you've never known, never _dreamed _of, Ministry brat. _  
  
Potter was dumbfounded. 'Oh,' he said sheepishly, offering a grin. 'Sorry. I thought - you know.'  
  
Remus ignored this, gently shuffled the pictures into a pile, and laid them on top of the chessboard. 'Your trunk has been brought up, young Mr Potter.'  
  
'Oh, thanks,' Potter smiled.  
  
Choosing to ignore this as well, much less return it, Remus went on: 'Of course. Crossed Tailfeathers only offers the best of service.'  
  
Still with that friendly smile, Potter chuckled a bit. "Bet you get tired of saying that.' Remus half-growled at the implication it was a rehearsed statement he was paid to say. Which was half-true, but details, details… 'Not that I'm disagreeing,' Potter tacked on quickly. 'I'm honestly enjoying this place. Glad I came. Say, er - if you're no Muggle, and obviously as British as they get… why haven't I ever seen you at Hogwarts?'  
  
Remus's heartrate increased. Potter mustn't guess the truth. Crossed Tailfeathers would ever do business again. The brown robes he was wearing did not help the situation. Then the right lie came to him. 'I'm a Squib,' he said, not having to feign the slight colouring of his face. Shameful as it was to say so, sometimes his sheer genius even astonished himself.   
  
'Oh.' Potter was regretting he'd even asked. Good for him, the neb-nose. 'Er, sorry.'  
  
'Do not hesitate to ask if you need anything at all, master Potter.' Remus gave him a slight bow.  
  
'All right then,' Potter said cheerfully. 'In that case, can I have an extra bed set up in here? I have two friends coming along tomorrow night, and we'd like to share a room while we're here.'  
  
'Certainly…' Remus glanced about the Red Room dubiously. In spite of his reply, it was a bit small for three people. But Remus was unused to making any decisions about the inn at all. He was told what to do and did so, and had rarely ever had to speak face-to-face with guests in roughly ten years.  
  
A decade. Right near a decade's worth of pretending he didn't exist, of not being seen, like a Borrower.   
  
'Of course, if you'd like, we could move you and your companions to a larger room.' Remus was fairly sure the Blue Room was unoccupied. It usually was.  
  
'No, if we could,' Potter said, glancing around. 'I like this room a great deal. It's not too large and has that beautiful deep scarlet, and was Gryffindor's room, you know. If it would just be possible to get the third bed…'  
  
'I shall see what we can do.' Remus's tones continued to be stiff and clipped, and grew frostier every time Potter asked a question, or, as he did not, even looked to be thinking of a query. 'G'eve'n.' With another bow, he left the room. More cautious even than usual because of the encounter with Potter, Remus double-checked his every step.  
  
To make sure he was concealed by shadows.  
  
*  
  
The Red Room hadn't actually been Godric Gryffindor's room, of course, although Cauley Lupin would have led you to believe so, and had convinced many a person of it. Of course, he would say, far more soberly and solemnly than Catty's easygoing brother-in-law generally appeared, it a lot of people claimed that 'Gryffindor slept here', and the greater bunch were quacks, but oh no, you never got that from Crossed Tailfeathers. When pressed that it was doubtful this was his precise dwelling from a thousand years ago, Cauley would relent and admit that yes, of course, Crossed Tailfeathers was made of wood, and since wood is just dead tree to begin with, the original building had long since deteriorate and been taken down… but the Red Room, yes, had been built on the _exact same spot _Godric's feet had rested all that time ago… well, no, of course, not, the Red Room was on the floor above, technically the dining room was where Gryffindor's footsteps had graced the ground, but still, you had the general idea, didn't you? And by now Cauley's voice would be pleading, almost mournful, eyes winning over every female in the room… and they would comfort him. Oh, yes, Crossed Tailfeathers definitely had the honour of Godric Gryffindor. And Cauley would reward the believers with his playful little smile. Calder often mentioned to Catty that he wondered if Catty had married him because of Cauley's charm rather than Calder's own. 'Nonsense,' Catty would say, of course. She was in love with Calder Lupin and not his brother. But one had to admit that Cauley was far more cheering than her own husband, endearing as the latter was.   
  
She had always been enchanted by the idea of inn keeping. 'Frightfully disrespectful,' her sister Nora had jeered. 'Did you fall in love with Lupin or his father's inn?' her mother had asked scathingly. But Father had said: 'Of course, my Coral-Cat. As long as you have a home and a home you can fuss over you'll be happy.'  
  
And Calder! Glancing sideways at her oh-so-anxiously, 'Won't it be a bit of a step-down for Cora Rookwood?'  
  
'Not for your cat,' Catty had retorted. 'Don't be ridiculous, Calder. I'll be the happiest woman in the world.'  
  
It had held true for the most part. Rookwoods might wonder why she married to drudgery, but it had never seemed so to Catty. She loved the greater portion of it all, although a severe illness had lamed her left leg and slowed her down some. But the paperwork! Accounting was truly a task only for the crazy, or, considering how badly they were doing, those of morbid heart.   
  
So she was pleased by the distraction of her son's appearance in the kitchen. 'Appearance' was the right word; Remus's footsteps made as much noise of falling snowflakes when he wished them to be, and, to Catty's sorrow, he had never drawn a line between silence with family and silence to the world.  
  
'A third bed is wanted in the Red Room,' he said without greeting or warning or prodding, much less emotion.  
  
Although Catty had hoped more for a _hullo, Mam, how're you doing?_, she was not about to pass up the chance to turn away from figure-keeping. 'Whatever for?'  
  
'He has two friends coming tomorrow evening. They wish to share a room.'  
  
'Are they paying full price?' It was not the sort of thing Catty would usually first ask, but the glaring numbers on the table had left an impression.  
  
Remus paused. 'I didn't think to ask. I'm sorry.'  
  
'Ask?'  
  
'He saw me.' Remus's voice was neutral. 'I told him I'm hired help and a Squib, in case you need to stick to the story.'  
  
The bluntness of the statement stung at Catty's heart. She examined her son with an inward sigh. He was so very… the word didn't come. Not lethargic or melancholy or apathetic. Remus never quite moped. But he was so constantly silent, out of habit because for him to speak at the wrong moment could ruin their livelihood, so pale from lack of sunlight, for he was well-known to the town enough that if they saw him he would be attacked, and from his monthly ordeals, which were, as a mother, Catty's worst nightmare, not to mention Remus's, and - _lonely_. Just sad and lonely and hiding it in classic adolescent fashion by withdrawing.  
  
Somehow things hadn't improved with years, as Catty and the Lupin men had hoped. Various happenings had only barred Remus from one more place and then another, until at fifteen he could scarcely dare leave the inn, and even then he had to stay hidden.  
  
Occasionally Catty wondered if they shouldn't've continued to pursue his schooling. But the smaller schools, even the ones for special cases, had turned him away unhesitatingly, and they hadn't the heart to keep seeking more unlikely sources.  
  
Catty had secretly (well, with Cauley's assistance in the matter) gone to Hogwarts, best and most known of them all, when Albus Dumbledore had become headmaster, the same year as what should have been Remus's first. Dumbledore had been her own Transfiguration teacher and she remembered him for his fairness and kindness. Others must have too; he was renown for those traits.  
  
Dumbledore… oh, yes, Dumbledore had been understanding, sympathetic… considering how little he had actually helped, insultingly so. He had agreed that it was indeed a dilemma, and quite a terrible shame, but upon careful consideration there were a great deal of risks that came with Remus's 'condition', and now that this new cult was on the rise he did not want students to be pulled from the school because they would so easily fall into Voldemort's hands, and that as far as this war was concerned Remus wasn't quite a 'normal' child, and would Cora care for a Licorice Wand?  
  
'No, thank you,' Catty had said in tones of ice.  
  
Of course there was no reason to neglect Remus's education, Dumbledore had continued. It was crucial to his future. He had a friend who might be interested in taking Remus on as a personal student in his field -  
  
'Calder and I can provide an education, Professor.' In a voice colder still.   
  
Certainly they could.  
  
'But what we want is to give him a childhood, like any boy deserves!' Catty's voice had now gone heated.  
  
For a moment, Catty thought she had won. Dumbledore's face, quick as a heartbreak, had looked so much older, to make him seem the over-century wizard he was. And she almost felt guilty - almost. Then Dumbledore soberly: 'Many people were unfairly cheated from their youth and still led happy, productive lives, Cora.'  
  
But Catty had fumed and repeated her rejection of the friend who was willing to take Remus as an apprentice. Remus needed parents and love and friendship and laughter and acceptance - and aye, discipline. He did _not _need a life carved out in stone for him at barely a decade old. Finally the meeting had ended. Catty had never owled Dumbledore to take up his parting offer of: 'If you need any help at all, please contact me. I promise to do anything in my power to assist you in this.'  
  
Sometimes Catty wondered if she had been wrong. She had thought family would help Remus more than a stranger who would come along to claim the role of a mentor and to take him away, but every day Remus reminded her more and more of a trapped animal - a bird in a cage, gazing longingly for things he only knew as enticingly _different_, occasionally trying to stretch his wings only to find the bars beat them back.   
  
Now Catty felt herself nodding automatically. 'Very well. Your father and Cauley can get that bed up tomorrow morning. Let me snatch you some dinner, dear.'  
  
'I'll eat something a little later; you needn't worry. I'm not hungry.'  
  
'Nonsense,' Catty responded firmly, tucking the stool under the light oak ledge on the back wall of the white kitchen that served as the Lupins' dining room table. 'You're fifteen, not to mention male. It goes against every known law of nature for you not to be ravenous every hour of the day and night.'  
  
''Sorry,' Remus said again, in a sincere but many-times repeated tone. It rather infuriated Catty to know Remus was apologising as much for being freak of nature incarnate as for disagreeing with her. He was in one of _those _moods.   
  
Catty concentrated on going through the dinner leftovers, piling a (small, since Remus's appetite _had _been pretty lean the past few months) plate for him. 'Tired?' she asked, ruffling his hair a bit. Remus gave no indication of acknowledging her gesture, except to lean his head to the comfort of her chest for a moment.   
  
'A little.' He began to pick at his food.   
  
'Get to bed a little early tonight,' Catty suggested. 'It's not too busy and all under control.'  
  
'I'm fine, honestly.' There was no whine yet in Remus's voice, although there would be if she pressed on against his will. 'Can I go for a walk after I finish?'  
  
There was no hiding Catty's frown. 'Remus…'  
  
'I'll be careful, I promise. No talking to strangers or accepting sweets, and make sure I'm not seen - although I must say strangers have the best sweets.'  
  
She ignored the sarcasm. 'Where will you be going?'  
  
Remus always looked rather irritated at this question. 'I don't know. Around. The woods. Not too far.'  
  
'It's not that, dear. I trust you; I'm just worried.'  
  
A faintly edgy nod.  
  
'Don't stay out too long.'  
  
How often, Catty wondered as she waved her wand at the dishes, prompting them to wash themselves, had they gone through this script? When had they started it, and why was it only now she was beginning to notice they went through it nearly every evening?  
  
'What've you been doing?' Remus asked… right according to schedule.   
  
The account book was subject to another distasteful tap.   
  
'And how has that been going?'  
  
'Awful. You know, you'd think that we'd've gotten some of Green Dragon's business since that affair with Janus Thickley, but honestly, all it's been doing is getting their name about… and as they're the only openly-magical inn in Roasedaly…' Remus cringed a bit, as people tended to do when Catty got on her rants concerning the state of competition between the inns. Of course, Remus was particularly sensitive because he was the prime reason Crossed Tailfeathers wasn't doing particularly well. 'Respectability counts for nothing these days,' she ended, rather mildly, compared to the rest of her words.   
  
'Respectable, Mam?….' Remus gave her a dry grin. 'Lady Slytherin's ghost, a werewolf, _Cauley _Lupin… where do you get this impression of _respectability_?'  
  
'Remus,' Catty tried to smile back. 'Those aren't the important things.'  
  
'Well, except to the guests.' As if trying to steer the subject away from where he had unwillingly brought it, Remus asked something about when the next Quidditch game. Catty offered a few distracted opinions until both mother and son fell into another silence.   
  
The kitchen and their own quarters were charmed to be muffled from the rest of the inn; not silenced, as that would have made for an eerie quiet that might've bothered some guests and aroused suspicions in others. Still, they could hear what was going on in the dining room and lounge pretty well, and right now Cauley had 'slipped' and started to get into loud tale-telling with another guest, who was similarly fond of exaggeration.   
  
'Yea, dah Frenchie wi' th' dragon, yea… swear on Mahlin's beard tamed 'em things - had a lit'l Liondragon an' a awld mamma Vipertooth… when'never D'Arcy wanted fer a bit o' a meal, he'd never cook, 'twasn't much shakes a' it, act'ly, but he'd just have th' Liondragon roar o' bit…'  
  
'I knew ould Jolie right well,' Cauley said contemplatively. 'We'd gone egg-huntin' as boys - dragon eggs, of course.'  
  
Catty and Remus exchanged looks.  
  
'How I'd love to ask how Cauley ever got to France,' Catty commented. 'And then wash his mouth of those lies.'  
  
'He's getting better,' Remus reasoned. 'This time he didn't claim to be Jolie D'Arcy himself.' His smile was soft but untainted by any faint bitterness, and the most beautiful sight Catty had seen in quite a while.  
  
*

  
' "Yeah, yeah, we'll just follow those directions that drunk bloke gave to us, Black, and just go flying out in the dead of night searching for some backwoods haunted little inn", sure, _grand _idea! Petey the genius!' Sirius scowled. 'Last time I listen to you, Pettigrew.'  
  
'Stop grumbling,' Peter said, exasperation imprinted into his every syllable and movement. Even worse was his clumsiness on his broom, while Sirius zoomed ahead and swooped about impatiently in wait for him. He was chilly, embarrassed, tired, and generally bothered. 'Life's tough, Black. Get used to it.'  
  
'Huh! Look who's talking, Mr Perfect Peter Pleoh Pettigrew.'   
  
'At least I don't complain when things go wrong, Sleazy Ladies' Man In The Astronomy Tower.'   
  
'Ooh, ooh, do I detect a note of jealousy in St Petey's voice?'  
  
Peter knew very well the only way to shut him up would be to keep his own mouth closed and not give him the satisfaction. Unfortunately, his lips were moving against his will. 'Certainly not - one day my tax Galleons will be paying for your prison cell, Black.'  
  
True to form, it only added fuel to Sirius's fire. 'I find it disturbing that anyone would pay you to work for them, Pettigrew.'  
  
While Peter did have a withering retort, it was cut off as he flew headlong into prickly trees branches and brush. '_Ow_! Bugger!' He wanted to rub bits of wood and blood out of his face but didn't dare take his hands off of the broomstick.   
  
'Not again, honestly! One'd think you were a Muggle!'  
  
'So what? Someone'd think you were a Slytherin!'  
  
'You're the one who cheats every test.' Still, Sirius sailed expertly over and began to whack the branches about to clear a hole for Peter, who refused to reach very high altitudes. Tentatively Peter used one hand to wipe his face. It was going to be a long night, searching for this Crossed Tailfeathers Inn. Didn't help that the moon was barely at first quarter as well. It was dead dark in Roasedaly Forest, and several times Peter heard certain animalistic noises that sent shivers to his fingertips.  
  
Not that he was ever, ever going to let Sirius see his fear.   
  
'Come on, Petti. We need to get to Jamie.'  
  
Although they were not prone to agreeing on much, Peter nodded. They were always able to unite in the face of James - especially now, when he needed as the protection he could get. Whatever was in this forest was probably a cute little fluffy bunny rabbit compared to what was out to get James.   
  
They flew on further, talking much less during this stretch. Peter made the comment that they were going too far east, which Sirius ignored. Sirius later said they were going north when they should be going south, which Peter ignored. Needless to say, they hadn't found Crossed Tailfeathers and were getting bitten by every insect imaginable, especially a thoroughly miserable Peter, who had what was known as 'sweet blood' that the little things couldn't get enough of.   
  
'Damn. What time is it?'   
  
'You're the heir; why don't you have a watch?' Peter asked resentfully.  
  
'Well, excuse me for being clever enough to not wear it on a dangerous flight like this. Imagine that. Intelligence. What a foreign concept to you, Petti.'   
  
'It's ten to midnight.'  
  
Clever Sirius could only respond with one word: 'Damn.'  
  
'I could've sworn you sounded tire - oomph!' Quite abruptly, Peter tried to brake and failed, smacking into a halted Sirius's back.   
  
'Hey, shh!'   
  
Peter absolutely hated obeying Sirius's orders. With good reason: they generally caused havoc. But mainly because it was submission that burned his resolve to do so under no circumstances. On the other hand, his nose hurt pretty badly with its meeting with Sirius's backbone. And above all, if Sirius had spotted some sort of creepy forest dweller, Peter was not about to attract it with noise.   
  
'Oh.' Sirius seemed to slowly relax, although he was still whispering. 'Just someone.'  
  
' "Just someone". Hmph.'  
  
'Well, excuse _me _for wantin' us to get to this place with all limbs attached; I'm sure that's a really odd desire!'   
  
'You idiotic imbecile,' Peter growled. 'If _someone _is down there as opposed to some_thing_, bloody _ask _where the inn is!'   
  
'You wanker. Why would someone be in the forest at midnight that we'd want to ask directions from?'  
  
For once Sirius had logic on his side. Peter couldn't find a retort and instead concentrated on being quiet, peering over Sirius's shoulder at said 'someone'.   
  
'Looks harmless enough.'  
  
'Oh, sure, if you consider vampires harmless, I suppose so.'  
  
It was all Peter could do not to snort. 'Vampire?'  
  
'Well, look at 'im.' Sirius waved a hand at the white figure in high-collared robes, whose steps were not making a sound. The stealthy movements, now that Peter thought of it, were rather unnerving. Even more so when the sometime-vampire glance upward and they saw he actually looked quite normal for a boy their age, apart from the unnatural paleness.   
  
'You're not supposed to be coming until tomorrow evening.'   
  
If it hadn't been for the faintly wondering note in his voice at these words, Peter would have been scared straight out of his skin. Still, it was completely unnerving to hear him so calmly knowing of their plans.   
  
Sirius's eyebrows had come together. 'How d'you know that?' he asked sharply.   
  
_Sirius, you idiot. It should've been '_What_ do you mean by that?' _For all Sirius's supposed cleverness, he had never grasped the basic rules of war they'd had to live by for the past five years. Such as how you never trusted anyone and, particularly on such a mission as they were on, never confirmed anyone suspicions of your intentions. In fact, when Jamie Potter wasn't concerned, Sirius refused to accept there was a war at all. It grated on Peter's nerves in the manner of a badly-tuned musical saw.   
  
'Not that we know what you mean,' Peter added quickly and defiantly. Sirius gave him a pitying sideways glance and Peter groaned inwardly._ Lame, Pettigrew. _Tres _lame. _  
  
Even the mystery person looked rather superior. 'Er, of course not,' he said with a smirk. 'So you're coming early. Crossed Tailfeathers Inn - you're right of it. Turn and go almost directly straight, just a little south.'  
  
'Tol' you so,' Sirius murmured, and then more loudly: 'Thanks. Thanks a lot. Hadn't been for you, we'd've been searching about all night. I'm Sirius Black, by the way, and this pansy is my cousin, Peter Pettigrew.' Peter groaned, and not just because Sirius had yet again labeled him a 'pansy'. Distributing full names! _Black!_   
  
'If you really wanted to thank me, you could hurry and get to the inn quickly, or else when you'll arrive you'll wake the keepers.' Without a further word, the boy continued walking so dismissively even Sirius knew there was no good trying to talk with him any further. Sirius hung in the air limply, shocked and rather affronted. 'That wasn't very nice.'  
  
'He just gave us directions. You're in no position to say anything - and you heard him.' Peter's barely-swallowed nervousness made him Sirius Black-impatient. 'Let's get to the inn. Want me to reach it 'fore you?'  
  
This zapped Sirius back to life, and he went from standstill to full speed in seconds. 'Never,' he said, with sincere determination. After a few moments, when Sirius was sure he had Peter sufficiently outstripped, he asked: 'But how d'you think he knew where we were going?'  
  
'Gee, let's think.' Peter dipped the words in a vatful of sarcasm, screwing up his face in mock thought. 'Hmm. Hmm. Here's a toughie. How does a complete stranger just so happen to be able to tell where we're going and when we were supposed to be there, particularly when we're going to help protect our best friend - who just so happens to be on the top of You Know Who's victim list. By Merlin, this is difficult! Wait - gasp, no! I think I got it! Do you just maybe think, Black - thinking, you know, that thing where you exercise what's between the walls of your head? - that perhaps the aforementioned complete stranger is perhaps… no, that's a silly idea, him being a Death Eater spy. No, stupid notion, if you care about Jamie at all, just forget I said anything.'  
  
'Okay,' Sirius said over-brightly. 'I'll do just that, thanks. Really, Petti, you idiot. He was our age.'  
  
'And that has _what _to do with anything?' Peter demanded.   
  
Sirius shrugged. 'Let's get to this inn. I'm starving.'  
  
*  
  
Catty, for one, was pleased to see the latecoming guests. Remus hadn't yet returned from his walk and it was abnormally late for him. Calder was having little short of a conniption while Cauley tried to convince him it was perfectly natural for a boy of fifteen to stay out belatedly in rebellious protest of life in general. Since Catty agreed with both of them, the distraction was welcome. That young Sirius Black was the most charming thing, even if he did flirt outrageously with every female in sight - he had a reason to. And little Peter Pettigrew was adorably sweet.   
  
'You're here!' It was James Potter (_Red Room, oh, dear, we haven't moved the extra bed into it yet…_), bounding down the steps, half dressed in his pajamas and half in very proper dress robes, whispering but loudly so in excitement. 'Early!'  
  
'We know you spend every second apart from us in unbearable agony, yeah-yeah-yeah,' Sirius rolled his eyes, punching young Potter on the shoulder and somehow managing to give him a quick hug-that-did-not-look-enough-like-a-hug-to-break-male-adolescent-pride at the same time. 'All safe?'  
  
'Breathing, aren't I? What're you doing so _late_?'  
  
'It's Sirius's fault, Jamie, you know that,' Peter commented, standing awkwardly a little by them with hands stuck in his pockets.  
  
It earned a beam from young Potter. (Knowing his father was so high in the Ministry of Magic and that bit, it was harder for Catty to think of him by his first name than it would be other boys.) 'I know, Peter. It's always Sirius's fault. We should just buy him a shirt that says "I am the one to blame". Save a lot of breath.'  
  
'Hey!' Sirius protested in the middle of James's idea. 'He messed up the directions!'  
  
'Did not!'  
  
'Say, let's keep our voices down, everyone's sleeping,' young Potter said, still smiling but rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.   
  
Catty had already whispered the situation concerning James Potter's request to Calder, who nodded rather tightly, knowing it was inconvenient but necessary if he wished it. Now Calder explained to the boys about the Red Room. 'It would be a lot of noise right now, and as Master Potter said - '  
  
'Sweet Merlin, just "James", please,' the boy cut in, and Catty smiled fondly, already labeling him a _dear_ in her mental file cabinet.  
  
' - the other guests are, indeed, asleep. Shall we set Masters Black and Pettigrew up in a spare room for tonight?'  
  
Peter's face went slack. 'No, Sir. Don't call him Master Black. He'll have to buy all new hats, six sizes larger.'  
  
Sirius growled before turning back to Calder. 'What's the problem?' he asked. 'We can sleep on the floor in Jamie's room.' He cut off Calder's coming protest with: 'We slept on worse, at the Green Dragon.'   
  
Calder halted his contradictions. Crossed Tailfeathers and Green Dragon had never been friendly. 'Are you sure that would be comfortable…?'  
  
'I'd rather stick by Jamie.' Sirius grinned. 'He needs someone to help him find his glasses in the morning.'  
  
Jamie laughed good-naturedly.   
  
'After you wake up at noon tomorrow?' Peter snapped, glaring at Sirius.  
  
Now young Potter's smile faded. He turned to Calder. 'About payment, Mr Lupin. Of course we intend to pay the fare for two rooms.'   
  
Catty liked this boy more and more every minute, and could tell even Calder, who disapproved of teenagers staying in rooms without any adult supervision, was relenting. She hoped Calder didn't send them off or force them to bring in parental approval, which might make them leave. For one thing, the ledger-keeping from that afternoon was prominent in her mind. Did they ever need a rich, generous guest staying for an indefinite amount of time!   
  
'That will be fine,' Calder nodded. 'Shall we send up any extra pillows or coverlets?'   
  
'Nah, there's enough for two people, right?'  
  
'Are there not three of you, Master Black?' Calder raised an eyebrow at the dark-haired boy, who gave Peter a shove.   
  
'Oh, he doesn't count, Sir.'  
  
Animosity in the family! Catty reflected with some worriment. She felt for the smallest boy, who had the look of someone who was the perpetual third wheel.  
  
Peter snarled at his cousin. Jamie gave a yawn that might also have been a sigh. 'Excuse me. Yes, if you could lend us some for the night, that would be grand.'  
  
Calder and Cauley set off on this task, tired themselves and eager to get the boys off to bed as quickly as possible. In spite of her worry concerning Remus, Catty had waxed quite wonderfully under the little dears' influence. It… hurt… to think… they were Remus's age, and seemed so deep in their friendship… but after hearing Sirius and Peter hadn't a proper dinner this nagging bitterness evaporated. The lads must have a bit of something before going upstairs. She invited them into the kitchen threshold… boys weren't very particular as long as there was something good to eat… and they complimented her 'midnight bites' so much that Catty was quite gratified. The three had made an ally for life with their words of praise concerning her cooking.  
  
Thawing out much of their natural boyish and adolescent reserve under the influence of food, they chatted and gossiped in the most delightful manner, telling Catty bits about their school, and families, and friends and girlfriends, Quidditch opinions, hilarious tales of detentions, and unmoral but amusing tales of war concerning a Slytherin named Snape.  
  
'Do you remember the time we used that charm that magnified every noise he made all day?'  
  
James's face went wholly red as he tried not to laugh too loudly. 'How could I forget? Every single word, the whole school heard. Even McGonagall couldn't get it off!'  
  
Catty had the vague impression she ought not to be laughing… encouraging them in such a thing!… but did so anyway. It was such a jumbled stew of talk and events that her head was quite spinning but the dizziness was pleasant. She had thoroughly enjoyed their company and impulsively hugged Peter Pettigrew - quickly, but motherly all the same - before they went up. Peter had gone rather red but didn't seem offended.  
  
After waving them off she turned to cleaning up the kitchen counter, and after a few moments - and Catty never knew how long he'd been in the room - Remus emerged, seemingly out of nowhere, smelling pleasantly of forest and night. His face was hard-set… even more than his norm of late… but his eyes seemed to have softened, as they generally did after his rambles. 'Poor lad, it's all the freedom he's left,' she sighed to herself.   
  
'Remus, you're quite late,' she scolded gently.  
  
He rinsed out the sink before she could. 'Sorry.'  
  
No, he wasn't! Catty had an impulse to embrace and slap him all in one movement.  
  
'Your da's upset.'  
  
'It's nice out there, Mam.'  
  
How was one to reply to that? 'And you lost track of time?'  
  
'For a while, yes.' Remus paused, as if considering, and then said with no apparent emotion, 'Two travelers on the road reminded me of it.'  
  
'Re…' She trailed off. No more lectures, not tonight. Besides, it was wholly awful, having to tell your own son that he must separate himself… what a mess it was. The smile left over from Peter, Sirius, and James faded without her realising it. Leave Calder to it, the warnings: she worked hard all day, hadn't she?   
  
'I'm sorry that I couldn't get back in time to help move the beds,' Remus said over his shoulder, moving toward the doorway.   
  
Catty jumped. 'How did you know of that?'  
  
'I like to make sure I know everything. If things aren't running smoothly around here, or I don't know for certain they aren't, it bothers me.'  
  
The contrast between the lighthearted, carefree boys and her son, who devoted himself so carefully to make up for whatever he thought himself lacking in other ways… 'Remus… you needn't worry so much…'  
  
'I'd rather be useful, if you don't mind. 'Night, Mam.'  
  
A pause. 'Good night, dear.' Her soft and tender voice apparently had no effect, shattered and melted no ice. It had been quite a long day.  
  
**TBC**  
  



	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: Thanks bunches to patient readers, including Alias, almae, auroraziazan, DcSolstice, elmtree, Little Dragon, madkornfan, Saerelle, Toby, wolverines_girl, and Zetta.  
  
I'm incredibly sorry that this took so long; I got stuck in a block, plain and simple, about halfway through. Then OotP came out, and, frankly, I was distracted. Speaking of which, OotP smashed a few ideas for this, but, charmingly enough, this was an AU to begin with, so just a quick _Reparo_, dusting off, and they've survived good as new.   
  
Holes in reasoning can be pointed out via review, but I actually have plans for them.   
  
It moves slowly still, but as it shouldn't have more than ten chapters, I assure you that the pace shall pick up. Thanks again.   
  
Chapter Two:**  
  
Peter's prediction the night before had been true to form; even James couldn't deny it, much less Sirius. He could, however, ignore Peter's gloating, and concentrate sleepily on James, who had bounded onto the bed. Or, rather, on Sirius, who had still been in the bed; not quite asleep but not yet awake.   
  
'Oh, Sirry, they have the _best _food…' James actually groaned as he rubbed his stomach in memory, an action usually taken over by Peter. 'And, Sirry, listen, you won't believe who owled in a reservation, you won't _believe _it…'  
  
'Lemme guessss…' Sirius drew out the last syllable, slurring as badly as if he had been drunk. Suffice to say, everyone had experience on Sirius being in that state. 'Ple', dun tell me… um, um… it's someone _good_, right? Not, you know, Snape, or one of the teachers…'  
  
'Don't,' said Peter solemnly. In spite of how he stumbled over his words, he had a strong sense of humour. It was just a pity his listeners usually lost interest by the time he forced whatever he was trying to say from his mouth. 'You're insulting the teachers, saying them in the same breath as Snape…'  
  
James was heartily enthusiastic. 'It's someone good, old boy. _Really _good.'  
  
'For more than the obvious reasons, too,' Peter agreed.  
  
'Dai Llewellyn!' Sirius shouted, voice still thick with sleep.  
  
'Wake up, Black,' said James, much more fondly than Peter would have said. 'Dai's dead. Remember?'  
  
**(A/N: 'But it's an _AU_! Anything's possible!' Sirius protested.)**  
  
'But we're _wizards_. Anything's possible!' Sirius protested. Dangerous Dai Llewellyn was his great hero.   
  
James sighed a shade too patiently. 'I refuse to even dignify that with a response. Try for real.'  
  
'Well, while we're on dead fellows, why not Godric's ghost? That's what I heard was here.'  
  
'He's _alive_, Black - even if not for long,' was Peter's sunny contribution.  
  
'Sirius or - you-know-who?' James asked.  
  
Peter barely stopped to think. 'Both would be good.' He had sat gingerly on the edge of his cousin's bed, and flinched when Sirius's yawning and stretching threatened contact.  
  
'Not _the _You-Know-Who, _our _you-know-who.'  
  
'You two are giving me a headache. Is it Robyn Walkchester?'  
  
'Oh, you'd like that, Quidditch _and _thinly-clad girls!' Peter muttered, but James overrode him:  
  
'Oh, c'mon, _no_! Not Quidditchy at all!' James Potter, the Quidditch-possessed, had never sounded so happy at the adjective 'not Quidditchy' before.   
  
'Not even female?' Sirius said in a whimper.   
  
'No!'  
  
'Den whassa point? Lemme sleep some more.'  
  
'Black, you've slept about forty out of forty-eight hours. Take a break!'  
  
At Peter's stern order, for once with no hint of a stutter, Sirius burst into sleepy but hysterical laughter. Even James couldn't fight a tiny smile.   
  
Eager to rid everyone's memory from his inapt statement, Peter barged on ahead. 'It-It's _Alastor Moody_!'  
  
Both of Sirius's eyes popped open. 'Who?'  
  
'Alastor Moody, my dear hearing-impaired lass.'  
  
James's mortal insult had no effect. Sirius _did _go from lying with limbs askew to sitting bolt upright in the blink of an eye, but not to start a mock tussle with his friend. His eyes were round.   
  
'I'll lass you,' he threatened in most unthreatening of tones. 'Moody? No kidding. Moo-_dy_?' Sirius was not a very close follower of the war and kept it at arm's distance, but Alastor Moody was a name to inspire awe and respect and even hero-worship all the same.   
  
'We don't kid with you when you're too tired to fight back,' James said.  
  
Sirius was whispering. '… _must _be kidding… _Moody_…' He found his usual volume again. 'What in Godric's name is he doing getting a room in an out-of-the-way place like _this_?'   
  
'Let's think,' Peter muttered, but only to himself, because Sirius and James were deep in engaged conversation before these two words were out of his mouth. 'Well, unless he's taking a _holiday_' - and Peter laughed shortly; no Auror did nowadays, as he knew well from his uncles: 'An Auror's time off comes soon enough, when he's dead'. Moody was one of the ones who had been an exception since the beginning of the war. Maybe the only one. '… then you would suppose he's looking for a Death Eater. But just a guess.'   
  
Meanwhile, James had his own conclusions mapped out, and Sirius was polishing them. 'Well, obviously something's happening here in Roasedaly…'   
  
'But why this inn?'  
  
'Well, that Green Dragon is pretty openly magical, but maybe that's just it, it's _too_ full of witches and wizards, and I think the rest of the inns are pretty much all Muggle. Wizards don't even go there. They might not go here, either, 'cept the Lupins are an old family and most know them.'  
  
'I've never heard of them,' Sirius said sceptically.   
  
'I said they're an _old_ family, not necessary a well-known one. They've never been very rich or powerful or anything, but they go back for centuries.' Sirius and Peter came from the lower wizarding aristocracy, but James, as a Potter, knew the ins and outs of every wizarding family there was. 'Hunh, here's an interesting one for our dear Lestranges - the Lupins go back farther than they do. _And_ the Flints.'  
  
'It'd be nice to get _his_ head down some,' growled Sirius. 'You don't think there might be a Death Eater or something in _here_?'  
  
'Obviously he's somewhere in Roasedaly or close to it. But I don't think it's necessarily here. I still think he's coming here only because Tailfeathers is rather secluded and quiet, but the owners aren't going to raise eyebrows if he brings in some of his Auror-toys. They'd co-operate with a squad if needed.'   
  
'Well, there's'm funny things at Tailfeathers, ini't there?' asked Sirius. 'That's what those blokes at Green Dragon were saying.'  
  
'Of course they were,' said a dismissive Peter, who had rejoined the conversation. 'They don't want them to get their business.'  
  
'It was too full of stuffy grownups and overcrowded. Not nice like this.' Sirius was equally dismissive, although for once his contempt wasn't with Peter.   
  
'Actually,' said James thoughtfully, 'there _are_ odd rumours about this place.' There was little doubt this had been one of the attractions that brought him to Crossed Tailfeathers to begin with. 'For centuries there's been that old problem with Lady Slytherin's haunt…' He trailed off and grinned sheepishly as he saw Sirius and Peter staring at him with identically incredulous expressions. Sometimes his knowledge of every nook and cranny in the wizarding world unnerved them. 'Sorry. Sirius ought to get dressed. Day's almost over, and I didn't come here to do homework and twiddle my thumbs.'  
  
'No, no, that's okay,' said Sirius eagerly. 'This is interesting. Go on.'   
  
'You _should_ get up.'  
  
'I can get dressed the same time you talk!'   
  
'It's like talking and thinking at the same time,' James and Peter chorused, and grinned at each other.  
  
Sirius rolled his eyes. 'Old, mates, old.' He rolled over onto the floor. 'I'm up. Keep going. I want to know what'll try to eat me while I'm here, and meant to ask you anyway. Isn't there a werewolf around here, or - '  
  
'Yes, that's another one.' James didn't sound credulous. 'I think it just started by a few odd coincidences around a full moon and their name.'  
  
'What about their name?' asked Peter.  
  
'Lupin. Lupus. Wolf. Unfortunate coincidence, really, and maybe there was something odd around here once, but I think Mr and Mrs Lupin are just the victims of old ladies gossiping over tea. There's been nothing concrete to prove things for years.'  
  
'They do have that _weird_ brother,' Peter said. He and James had met Cauley Lupin at the breakfast Sirius had missed.   
  
James laughed. 'Oh, Sirry, you're going to _like_ Cauley! But, honestly, he's no more a werewolf than _I_ am.'  
  
'That leaves us in some doubt, then,' spoke up Sirius, hopping about on one foot as he fumbled with a sock. It was difficult to tell if it was a sock being put on or one taken off: Sirius's all looked the same. 'Besides, how can you tell?'  
  
'Well, you know,' James shrugged. 'You saw him. A bit excitable - I don't think he quite ever grew up - but perfectly normal.'  
  
'What's _your_ standard of perfectly normal?' asked Peter, mock-derisive.   
  
Sirius hid his face. No use in letting Peter think he was funny or anything.   
  
James, oblivious to Sirius's thought, leaned back on Sirius bed happily. Perhaps it was just the novelty of an unusual holiday and an unusual inn, but they were all getting along very well. He hoped it lasted for a little while.   
  
*  
  
'Cauley - you cannot - cannot - go cracking those Ministry jokes,' Catty was saying imploringly. 'And not that little act where you pretend you're a Death Eater. I mean, most of our regulars know you, but not - not - around _Moody_.'   
  
'You sound like my dear brother,' said Cauley, dryly. 'Shall I say a hundred times "I will be a good boy"?'  
  
'Probably wouldn't hurt,' muttered Catty distractedly. Calder had insisted that great chunks of the inn were due for a thorough cleaning.   
  
'Listen, I don't want to wait in Azkaban for six months for a trial at the mercy of Barty Crouch. I'm not going to act like an idiot. I will be a good boy; I will be a good boy; I will be a good boy - '  
  
'All right, all right!'   
  
Cauley stared. Catty never raised her voice.   
  
'I don't see what the fuss is about, anyhow,' he muttered, a bit sullenly. 'Just because the whole wizarding world knows someone's name doesn't mean we should spruce up extra for him. What's good for our _regular_ customers should be - '  
  
'Oh, come on, Cauley! You and Calder go over this argument every time we get a well-known customer, and I get dragged in the middle every time, and then Remus gets disgusted and upset and doesn't talk for three weeks after the guest leaves, and there's great rows and we need _so_ many Silencing Charms, oh, please, Cauley, not this time.' Catty's voice was choked with tears, even if her eyes were dry. 'Calder thinks it's for the best, and it certainly can't _hurt_ - '  
  
'Shhh!' said Cauley, much taken aback. He adopted the soothing tone used by a majority of men in tense times, not knowing that its effect is usually to make the damsel in distress more on edge. 'Calm down there, Catty-girl, shh, calm. Listen, I didn't know it upset y', y'see? But that's right now. There'll be no big rows; neither we both of us're going to bother y', all right? If Cal' and I need to exchange words, we'll do it alone, all right?'   
  
Catty gave him a strained little smile that made Cauley feel guilty as sin.  
  
'That's fine, Cauley, really, I was up too late last night, and with all the excitement I wouldn't know which end of a broomstick to use. Here, if you'll grab the breakfast mess quick I'll do these rooms, and with Remus on the guest rooms we'll be done soon enough. Maybe a little something special for lunch.'   
  
'A - all right,' said Cauley hesitantly, patting her with extreme awkwardness on the shoulder and making a hasty retreat. 'Whew!' he said to himself. 'Catty-girl's got 'irself ina almighty tizz now. I'll be a good boy, 'member, I will be a good boy, I will be a good boy… An' Cal' wi' his _thinkin_'…'  
  
*  
  
The Crossed Tailfeathers dining room was a large, old-fashioned, high-ceilinged, dim affaire. The walls were dominated by one large fireplace that provided all the room's light, and beta'd by a few portraits on the wall of dark ominous people whom only the Lupins could place, and even they weren't certain of them all.   
  
The table was long and dark and wood and sturdy, and the chairs were like it.   
  
It was rather full that night. Cauley was on his best behaviour, on a probation of sorts. Calder was considering taking his place waiting the table for Moody's visit and everyone knew it. Cauley simply did not know the definition of politically correct.   
  
So the room wasn't quite as noisy as the norm, which made Remus's position more difficult. Cauley had always been a distraction for the guests. Now he had only the room's darkness and his own experimentive (and illegal) chameleon charms to aid him.   
  
But he _had_ to go. James Potter was a sitting duck, and any potential pickpockets could see that he was entirely too wrapped up in his friends - Sirius Black especially, and Peter Pettigrew was brooding and not hindering them at all. He was in another world. Remus knew how to think like a thief. Potter was a gold mine without booby traps.   
  
Well, Remus could be a trap, a sight better one than any inanimate object.   
  
He was under the table, which could be an interesting place some nights. There was no tablecloth, but between his charms and everyone else's preoccupation no one ever noticed him. Only Cauley knew about this, and it had taken him almost four years to catch on, so when he tried to scold Remus (and Cauley couldn't scold to begin with) Remus simply pointed out that he had been there a thousand meals before Cauley had noticed, and Cauley's job was to notice something like that, so his chances of being caught were nil, or at least slim.  
  
Remus also knew how to keep his mouth shut about some of the things he witnessed there. He had long since trained himself out of the natural need to talk things over. In fact, he ignored them. Since Cauley had caught him Remus had only done this when he had a specific target, and he had one tonight.   
  
It didn't take long for Remus to see, through blockades of limbs and chair legs, that one of the drifters had gone by and taken Potter's watch. And the drifter would be back; Remus had just seen his skill in action, and the watch was too easy.   
  
Tuning out the conversations, especially the one between Potter and Black (which he'd become too interested in), Remus crept along, keeping the drifter in sight. The man sat down close to the boys.   
  
Remus waited until he knew the thief was preoccupied watching Potter and Black, and trying to make it look as though he weren't, and possibly even the dinner itself before he struck, nipping the watch neatly back from the drifter's pocket. But he didn't bother slipping it back to Potter's wrist, not just yet; he was still watching the pickpocket.   
  
Black seemed to be making some elaborate movement with his hands, probably imitating a Quidditch play. Potter would be watching. The thief and Remus both knew this was the moment. The thief pulled off a common little maneuver, leaning back in his seat as a cover for inching a little over to his victim.   
  
On the opposite side, Remus pushed the chair (already tilting back thanks to the thief himself) and the chair and the man fell backwards.   
  
_Not in_ our _inn, thank you_, he reflected satisfiedly.  
  
There was a great clamour; Remus hastily retreated to the middle, where no legs might bump him, but out of sight from the gaping hole that the missing chair now made. Some folks were crowding around the pickpocketer, checking if he were all right, etc.   
  
He could hear Potter and Black laughing.  
  
Pathetic.   
  
But Remus was smiling too, albeit grimly. The drifter, Muggle or wizard - for both believed in every old wives' tale and gossip item there was - would soon learn not to attempt thievery in the haunted Crossed Tailfeathers Inn.   
  
Even better, the thief had decided to excuse himself, which meant that within a little while the incident was forgotten, conversations were going full steam again, and Remus was ready to return the watch. If the common pickpocket could do it, Remus was certain that he could as well.   
  
Now even Pettigrew was involved with the conversation, which seemed to revolve around peeves, pranks, and slapstick humour.   
  
With a fine and delicate hand, Remus slipped the watch on and then leaned back, completely under the cover of the table again.   
  
But Potter had subconsciously sensed something wrong - damn him - and as he shifted in his seat, his boot hit Remus, who instantly sat still and held his breath.   
  
If the dining hall at large ever caught him, there would be a mess, and Potter was now poking experimentally with the toe of his shoe. The number one rule in such a situation was one Remus already knew: don't panic.   
  
_I am a table leg, I am a table leg, I am a table leg, I am a table leg, I am a table leg… _The longer Potter's shoe was still in connection to him, the louder his heart seemed to pound. But Remus's rational side held firm: no one could hear that but himself. _Table leg.  
_  
Potter retreated, shifting his chair.  
  
'What's up with you, Jamie?'   
  
Jamie?   
  
Please.   
  
'Nothing,' although he sounded impatient, 'it's just I got the chair by the table leg, can't find a comfortable spot…'   
  
*  
  
The drifter was gone the next morning, having asked Catty Lupin for a takealong breakfast.  
  
*   
  
_Dear Lily,_  
  
_Asking if you miss me sounds really pathetic. So I'll just say I miss you. I still can't tell you just where I am. Or even who I'm with. But it's a nice place and I'll be telling you all about it when term starts. _  
  
_So you have to write back to me and tell me about yourself. Everything. Is your sister driving you up the wall yet? And are you still procrastinating on your summer homework? That essay McGonagall gave us is rotten. _  
  
_Write my parents, tell them I'm okay. _  
  
_I don't know what to say. I keep remembering all the plans we made for this summer and how _('their' is crossed out)_ they're not going to happen now. Stop driving me to insanity. It's not very nice of you, you know. _  
  
_I miss you. And I'm wishing I could write letters like you do. _  
  
_James_  
  
*  
  
At first Remus had been horrified to discover that Potter and his cronies were using the forest as an obstacle course to race. Sure, if they were simply running that was fine, even though Remus would _still_ have thought them both frivolous and ridiculous, but with brooms? In _Roasedaly_?   
  
His mother had told him not to worry about it; she'd said they could and there were all sorts of protective charms around the forest.   
  
'What sort of protective charms?' Apparently nothing that had helped him ten years ago in that same forest.   
  
'Shielding ones,' she said, looking pained. She was either thinking of the same thing or the stress of preparing the place for Alastor Moody's arrival was wearing on her. Or both. 'Anything magical in there, Muggles can't see. If we were in there Muggles couldn't see us.'  
  
'Convenient.'   
  
And in that case, it was certainly a pity that the three of them were wizarding; it would have made hiding from them easier. Because Remus had thrown away his inner voice of reason, and caution was flying along with the wind.   
  
He had gone into the forest too. And was _watching_ them.   
  
Every few minutes he took care to remind himself what an idiotic moron he was.   
  
The same way that Black kept assuring Pettigrew every few minutes that he was an idiotic pansy.   
  
Pettigrew had opted to keep his feet firmly on the ground and was doing some summer homework, a concept Remus found rather cruel. That he worked on scholarship year round didn't matter. Schools were strange, or perhaps of course he just thought that because he'd never been to one. Potter and Black were on their broomsticks, horsing around to a great degree and exchanging banter that wasn't half so witty as they both found it.   
  
Remus was sitting in a tree, something he loathed but did anyway because he refused to tolerate his own weaknesses. All the same, he had expended enough energy to make a Net Charm to surround the tree in case he fell. Without a wand it had been difficult, but falling from the tree he'd scampered up, smacking against the ground at the feet of a werewolf, promptly being attacked, and having his world explode in pain and fear was still a sequence that visited him in his dreams. He was then distracting himself from both the boys and the tree's height by reading.   
  
It distracted him from the latter, but not the former - Potter and Black especially were not people easily ignored. Which hopefully explained why he was doing something quite so stupid as being out here, listening to them.   
  
'Yes, well, your Quidditch skills didn't help you win over _Evans_, that's for sure!' Black was yelling.  
  
'Shut up, Sirius, I got the girl now,' retorted Potter with extreme good nature, obviously benevolent in his dual victory.   
  
If Remus congratulated himself on doing one thing that wasn't _quite_ as thick as he seemed to be acting that day, it was on not reading anything wizarding. It was an inconspicuous Muggle fiction book. An extremely boring one, at that, but it made explanations easier when -   
  
'Hey!'   
  
Remus nearly toppled out of the very precarious seat of branches. When he regained his balance enough to see straight, he was looking into a dark, handsome face familiar from the pictures he had flipped through in Potter's room.  
  
'Hey,' Black said again, not shouting this time, looking a bit bemused but with a friendly sort of grin.   
  
As Remus had no idea of what to respond with, he opted for his usual choice, the safest one - complete silence.   
  
'_Hey_,' Black said for the third time, seemingly struck by something. 'Do I know you?'   
  
Oh, right. The night where he and Pettigrew had asked for directions around midnight.   
  
'No,' responded Remus truthfully. He didn't. They had met, but Black didn't know him.   
  
'_Jamie_!' Black called, 'c'mere!' He turned back to Remus. 'So why're you in a tree?'  
  
''Cause I'm reading,' Remus replied testily, holding up his book.   
  
'Reading? Over summer hols?' Black stared at him. 'Mental.'   
  
James Potter made a beautiful sharp U-turn and darted over on an angle that nearly defied gravity. 'It's you!'  
  
He actually sounded _glad_ to see Remus.  
  
'So you know him too?' asked Black. And then, before Potter answered, hollered: '_Pettigrew_! Come over here!'  
  
Remus was beginning to feel like some novel attraction at a circus.   
  
'Sure I know him!' Potter was beaming at him good-naturedly. 'He brinks up trunks and keeps our room semi-tidy, a thankless task I'm ever so grateful for.'   
  
Although Remus had been waiting for a chance to scowl at them, and this was a convenient opening, he decided against it at just this juncture. For one, he didn't want to give Potter any more of an impression that he disliked his 'job' at the inn. Remus's fierce pride in the inn couldn't allow that.   
  
For two, Black was talking before Remus quite had the chance. Their conversations were all much more loud and fast (not to mention inane) than Remus was used to. Of course, for two years, ever since the villagers of Roasedaly had cemented his lycanthropy in their knowledge, he had only ever spoken with his own family, three significantly older adults.  
  
Black was the loudest and fastest and most inane talker of them all. 'Well, _that_ explains it. Pettigrew' - he yelled to the boy below - 'it's the vampire that gave us directions to the inn last night.'  
  
Potter was wide-eyed and Remus was uncomfortable.   
  
'Just _kidding_.' Black nudged Remus with the end of his broomstick. 'You gave us just a smidgen of a fright there and Pettigrew said you were a vampire.'  
  
'N-No I didn't!' protested Pettigrew, from his tree. '_You_ said that!'  
  
'Listen to how that wind yowls!' Black exclaimed, irritating Pettigrew to no end. 'So what're you doing up here?'  
  
'I believe we had this conversation just a moment before,' Remus said, finally seeing a chance to employ a scowl. 'I. Am. Reading.'  
  
Black snarled at him first, and Potter's frown wasn't far behind. 'We leave behind a Snape and lookie what we get!'   
  
'Sorry to interrupt you,' Potter said, not sounding incredibly apologetic.   
  
Their anger stung Remus. Can't have it, he thought, bad for the inn. 'Sorry,' he mumbled. 'Listen - I'm sorry. I'll go now.'  
  
'Your family's tree,' Black shrugged, face still twisted darkly.  
  
'The Lupins aren't my family,' said Remus, 'and - well, anyway, I have some chores to do.'  
  
Black considered him long and hard, and his blue eyes seemed to pin Remus into place. 'Want a ride down?' he offered grudgingly at long last.  
  
'No, thank you,' Remus said reflexively, but then swiftly thought things over. He hated climbing down the tree in the best of cases - and here these boys would witness his hesitant, clumsy attempts, watch him sweat as memory battled with the present and the night of his attack played in his head. Come to think of it, he still had that Net Charm on. The caster of the spell couldn't go through it, and with them watching he had no chance of taking it off. 'Erm… well, yes. Please.' Remus swallowed, unaccountably nervous at Black's hard stare. 'If you don't mind,' he finished faintly.   
  
'Hop aboard,' said Black, not entirely invitingly.  
  
Remus did so, so keyed up that he forgot that he was in his dreaded tree and his catlike grace came easily to him. This was stupid. Very stupid. And what if Black had done this for less than altruistic reasons? Remus braced himself to be bucked off as they descended at the very least. Or perhaps they had heard the rumours and decided he was a werewolf, and Black was trying to take him to the Department. _Try! _he snarled mentally. _They've nothing on me!_  
  
Not strictly true, as the good upstanding _human_ citizens of Roasedaly had complained about him before and would do it formally if urged to do so.   
  
In any case, Black didn't do anything except give him a very cold nod at the bottom. 'Thank you, sir,' Remus replied, not meeting those hard eyes.   
  
'_Sir_?' Black repeated incredulously.   
  
Remus brought himself to look at Black again - in the most deferential of manners. 'Of course,' he said evenly. 'You are the paying guests of my employers, right?'  
  
'Right,' replied Black, still nonplussed. 'See you.'  
  
Not if Remus had anything to say about it, not _see you_. 'G'aft'rnoon,' he returned, and hurried off, cursing himself for a fool and feeling more painfully lonely than before.   
  
*  
  
He didn't know that he was the subject of a sizeable portion of conversation once he left.   
  
'How d'you know him?' Sirius demanded of James, coming up to tread in the air, flying escapes (very) temporarily forgotten.   
  
'First night here, right before you came,' replied James, promptly and matter-of-factly. 'And from the sounds of it he gave you directions here? What, were you lost?'  
  
'No, of course not. He asked where we were going and volunteered them.' Sirius quickly changed the subject, trying to override Peter's snort. 'He's Snapeish, isn't he?'  
  
Snapeish was their adjective for 'unpleasant' and a pretty severe slur amongst the four.   
  
James hesitated, but since Remus had acted nearly as cool and stiff and somewhat condescending even while calling him 'Master Potter' the day before, he was stuck with one truthful answer. 'A bit.'  
  
'He was just ticked because you interrupted him while he was reading,' Peter spoke up from the tree below them. 'You know how the Ravenclaws get nasty when you do that.'  
  
'And you,' Sirius shot back.  
  
'And me,' Peter said agreeably, unashamed of his bookworm status. And rather proud to be classified with the Ravenclaws.  
  
'So who _is_ he?' demanded Sirius, not able to push him from his mind.  
  
James's mouth opened to answer, and then he shut it. When he opened it again, he said in a wondering tone, 'D'you know, I don't know his name. All I know is that he says he's a Squib and he works for the Lupins - he's not, y'know, the long-lost werewolf son.' James frowned.   
  
'He does an awfully good Net Charm for a Squib,' Peter spoke up.   
  
Sirius rounded on him in all his frustrated glory. 'What?'  
  
'I said he - '  
  
'I _know_,' Sirius snapped.   
  
'I tried to climb up that tree and couldn't, and I can see some enchantments, you know that. From here it's pretty obvious that's what it is. You two can't feel it, you're on brooms.'   
  
James and Sirius exchanged glances.  
  
'Some Squib,' Sirius said, not so much agreeing with Peter as mock-insulting James.   
  
'Maybe what he meant was that he wasn't trained as a wizard, not properly,' James shrugged. 'Listen, are we practising our Double Trouble attack or not?'   
  
**TBC (hopefully quicker than the last time)**


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: I'm flattered, truly I am. And you've given me quite a few laughs. But has anyone ever told you fine folks of Hosanna's Campaign that you are very scary indeed? (And that there is, in fact, other fanfiction about?) But thank you. Yes, it probably wouldn't have taken even longer without the constant badgering.   
  
Here are as many responses to questions/concerns as I can fit onto this file while leaving enough for the actual chapter. (Feel free to leave email addresses as well.)  
  
First off, Hosanna and Truth-seeker's list was delicious. (Although you're being awfully optimistic with the friend thing, aren't you?)   
  
Alias - **Very nice questions, after you calmed down. :-) The wandless magic questions will be answered later in the story. For the table - he sneaks under before anyone's in the dining hall (which is separate from the guest room and the kitchen). As for the book, Remus likes to stick with his stories. He told James he was a Squib, which would make reading a book on magical theory seem a little suspicious. (At least, I think that was my reason.) You're right, I should probably work these answers in and will take the opportunity if I get a block. **  
  
Hosanna - **I'm also surprised that I'm still in school. The temptation to do outrageous things and thus get expelled (not the reason to do such things but certainly a nice bonus) is often very nearly irresistible. But I can't entirely accept that compliment, because the prose of this story is quite a bit better than most of my attempts. There's some sort of magic in here, and likely it has more to do with luck than ability. In short, flukish. Although I hope to eventually be good enough to do this on a regular basis.   
  
_Career Advice _was written beforehand, so I updated it every two days. (I'm rewriting the Lily chapter, which I dislike.) Some stories I do finish before posting - there's a hundred on my hard drive in progress - but unfortunately this isn't one of them. It's also one of the most difficult. **  
  
**_Stepping_ won't be slash. I usually let readers know right off if it is (I hated being surprised a few years ago when I wasn't ready to read slash). I can't promise the same for the sequel, though, for which I have a few hazy ideas. This one, however - you won't have to worry about the rating (although seeing what I see in my neighborhood, I don't see how slash would up a rating anyway if it's no graphic than het relationships). There'll be a hectic sort of fighting scene, but it won't be any more violent than the books and probably less. There's some mild language.   
  
Moody didn't have a magical eye during the first war. See the trial scenes from Dumbledore's Pensieve in GoF. But trust me, he's sharp enough without it...   
  
**Nate the Great** - *grin* You know, half the reason my writing goes so slow is because I can't use the computer often, with my baby brother around. Guess what? He adores Dr. Seuss. I mean, excessively so. I can recite that book, as well as several others. Anyway, thank you. It broke the monotony of reading it again nicely. **  
  
Rykatu*L - **Very sharp, what you've noticed on the magic technicalities. I promise there will be answers later. **  
  
Truth-seeker: **Not only are you funny, you're very smart. And you've shown me what a policy debate case looks like. Thank you. **  
  
wolverina - **Don't worry; the Marauders flatly refuse to be kept in the background too long, but at the moment there's some other things being cooked up at the dictation of the plot, which involves a lot of Moody and foreshadowing for the actual storyline. Sorry for the wait.   
  
**That's rather brief in comparison to the reviews, but after a few months of begging/nagging/threatening/asking/etc, I get the vague impression that you might prefer me to be brief in the author's notes and update that much more quickly. Thanks to everyone. Especially Saerelle, who made me laugh, Cygna-hime, who gave Moony much-needed hugs (he probably could have done without the glomping, though), auroraziazan, who is always helpful even when I forget to respond, and Gold Silk, whose observation permitted me to think I wasn't crazy.  
  
And next time, try to email questions. Long author's notes look egoistical. *grin* **  
  
**P.S. DcSolstice** - As I told Hosanna, no slash in this one. Her gain is your loss, I'm afraid. But romance of _any_ sort was never my forte, and I'm having enough problems with this story as is. At some point I'll try to email you with more in-depth responses to your thoughts. It all depends on how evil my teachers are feeling, and how much of the geometry I actually comprehend... **  
  
**  
**Chapter Three: **  
  
Hustle, bustle, toil, and trouble.   
  
The above (or something like it, sans the poetics) was on the mutterings lips of every Lupin the morning of Moody's reservation. Breakfast burned, and when Calder pointed out, close to optimism as he ever got, that at least Moody wasn't yet there for that misstep, it revived his and Cauley's old argument, carried on in low voices so as not to disturb the inn's lady fair, for both brothers adored Catty.   
  
Meanwhile Catty was occupied whipping up a few side dishes for those guests who didn't somehow enjoy mouthfuls of cinders so early in the morning, in between glances at the mirror above the coatrack. Catty was no-nonsense, and knew she was beyond her years of young, dimpled prettiness, at that, but she was a woman. The menfolk were sufferings similar small indulgences of the sort, if it came to that, but it would hurt their pride if we revealed _that _- heaven forbid! A mishap with the owls brought Cauley to his senses, and he allowed them to quench his vanities with a good-natured laugh and was all the better for it, but all the spills and accidents and sundry nuisances of Being-in-a-Hurry could not dampen Calder's determination to come out on top in the hopeless war of working hectically and looking as though he hadn't.   
  
Even Remus, markedly cynical about the whole affaire, had grown at least a little excited - if nothing else, it was a pure pleasure to have beaten out the _respectable _Green Dragon on such a grand scale. But in spite of having been generously entrusted with the greatest duty of all - the preparation of the Auror's room - he was the most lackadaisical of them all (not that anyone else tried to compete with him) and, when he did feel self-forbidden pangs of expectation, he reviewed his _Cycle of Grand Events_, a fascinating theorem of Remus's, which we shall peek at later.   
  
Currently he was engaged: it was risky, but it was also lunch hour, and a catastrophical one at that.   
  
Calder had made a royal mess of things with Cauley's task of serving the meal, as practice for that evening. Flustered and nervous, he had taken on more than he could chew (or carry) in an attempt to look more competent than Cauley - or than he felt. So while a regular asked in concern - and ill-disguised disappointment - if Cauley was all right, Calder had let more than one tray over-balance whilst trying to reply neutrally. Provokingly enough, they had Muggle customers present, so no magic, and in the confusion of clean-up amidst Calder's hurried apologies, Peter Pettigrew had elbowed a tumbler clear off the table.   
  
Catty had planned to do errands during that lunch for the evening, but with Cauley hastily trying to scrub the dining room with a discretely unmarked bottle of Mrs Skower's, Catty had to stand guard on the off-chance that the Muggle guests might meander in to find Cauley swearing and waving a stick that was shooting sparks.   
  
Business concerns aside, the Ministry would not be pleased: already they were none too popular there.   
  
Remus was the reason, or, all his self-reproach notwithstanding, the good citizens of Roasedaly were. Strangely enough, lycanthropy had an unwritten yet strict etiquette. First rule: werewolves - and any family that might oddly choose to stay with him or her - emigrated promptly from populated areas, hometown or no, period.   
  
The Lupins had not chosen this route; quite simply, there was the Crossed Tailfeathers Inn. It was the oldest institution of its sort, in the family for generations; they had reason to be proud of it and were, and they loathed the thought of leaving - although initially, staying had seemed impossible. Business had come to a standstill, although vandals had been frequents; even friends who did not shun them on the road kept a healthy distance; and, when it became apparent that they weren't departing anytime soon, officials from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures started showing up to investigate complaints against the village werewolf. Remus had done this and that and yet another thing that had no basis in truth - except that Remus _had _sneezed as someone passed by, but, that aside, it didn't quite seem to justify Mrs Newett's claim that baring his teeth in her presence constituted a threat.   
  
As the summer dragged by and the tempers inched up and up, things crescendoed to a fever pitch. Ridicule turned into outright attacks when Remus stepped out of the sanctuary of the inn. Roasedaly residents confirmed what had previously been vague rumours, and their brisk summer business was a trickle. During one ambush, Remus had panicked and his (Muggle) assailant's clothes got a scorching example of what terrified, uncontrolled magic could do.   
  
There seemed only one solution: keep Remus indoors, all of the time. He avoided the eyesight or earshot of guests. The local school had become only a memory for him already, but now he almost never left the back rooms of the Crossed Tailfeathers.   
  
And - miraculously, incredibly - Remus slowly disappeared from everyone's minds during the long winter and longer years afterward. Gossip eventually found subjects that weren't much more impactful, but more interesting, more recent. It was generally believed that he had been sent away, or had died, and although Roasedaly was religious about not going out on the full moon, no one told children or visitors about resident werewolf. And even though a majority didn't accept these theories, they saw years pass with no trouble - not even a sign of his existence. They kept quiet. The Lupins held their counsel. Eventually, they were left in peace, even very timorously accepted into the sidelines of the community. It even worked in their favour - the young crowd, the James Potters, liked the mystery, the aura, the 'whatever-the-hell-they-call-it', as Calder said.  
  
From his seventh to ninth birthday, Remus had never even put a toe out-of-doors. That was all right for a miserable, frightened, obedient child who only had dim memories of anything else, but it didn't work so well with a rebellious, clever, bitter teenager who sometimes wondered what, exactly, he was missing out on.   
  
Knowing how much they needed to get ingredients from Briarthorn's Apothecary and Herbs for their big evening, Remus threw on an oversized cloak of his father's, kept the hood up, snatched the money needed, and slipped away unnoticed easily as any thief.   
  
It was risky and he bloody well knew it, but what of it, he'd done plenty of risky things lately, staying out past midnight and getting caught by Potter and Co, and at least this was risky and _constructive_.   
  
He tried not to appear lost. Although he was familiar with the forest and the terrain near the inn under the cover of darkness, Roasedaly in broad daylight was foreign to him, and his memory did not helpfully supply directions from his toddlerhood. But he kept to Roasedaly's wide, light, golden-brown dirt roads and asked a few people to point him along. They thought nothing of it, as he had told himself they wouldn't. When he had retired from life, he had been five. This was ten years later, and he looked like the Rookwood side of the family, so he was unrecognisable - and nothing wrong with that, either: Roasedaly was full of strangers, especially in the summer. They had four inns, after all, and had them for a reason. It was a fairly nice place. One more unfamiliar face bothered them not. As for asking directions - well, it was a small town, but it wasn't laid out grid-fashion. Roasedaly had never learned that the quickest way from point A to point B is a straight line; therein laid some of its great charm.   
  
By the time he had gotten to Briarthorn's, Remus's eyes had completely adjusted to the sunlight and his stride was more relaxed, having gone this far with no mishap. It was a low, long place that didn't seem big enough to hold a floor above shop for the family.   
  
Remus girded himself. A woman here had thrown him out quite literally years before, and his faith in his disguise was not so great as his faith in shadows.   
  
He startled as he went in, recognising the man at the counter, undoubtedly: his eyes were back in the dimness of their natural habitat, and there could be no mistake. The face was clear in his mind, strikingly familiar. As was the voice that asked,   
  
'And what'll you be needing?'   
  
Uncle Casper. He had been buried in Remus's memory for a while now. Remus couldn't quite place him… didn't think he was any real relation, but he had always been around, years ago…  
  
But he couldn't show any of this. Remus replied calmly, but he hadn't even gotten to the first item on his mother's list when Briarthorn startled, his elbow knocking a scale off-kilter. Arrested, he stared intently at Remus, jaw hanging, and horror flashing in his expression.  
  
'_Remus_.'   
  
Remus held stockstill. Running would make a commotion; commotion was the last thing he wanted. Oh, he'd been _stupid_… (What had given him away?)   
  
'Ah…' Briarthorn swore in italics. 'Say it ain't so…'  
  
'Have we been introduced, sir?' Remus asked coldly. 'I feel at rather a loss here.'  
  
It did not convince him. Rather, Briarthorn groaned. 'Yep, that settles it, no' - this curse became an adjective - 'doubt about it, you're Calder Lupin's son or I ain't standing right here as we speak.' His voice was a whisper. 'You get the bloody hell away from here pronto, I mean dead straight away, you understand me?'   
  
'Why?' Remus was furious. He could see straight, all right, but everything in his line of vision seemed surreal, and it was beginning to blur a little.   
  
'_Why_? 'Cause there'll be the world's biggest stink, anyone sees you here, don't you know what you _are_?'   
  
'I'm labouring under no delusions, thanks,' snapped Remus. He whipped out the list. 'Look, my mam really needs this. Now. I'm here anyway, you might as well get it together quick, it's not much.'   
  
'Never took Cat for a fool,' Briarthorn muttered distractedly, swiping up the list and flicking a wand in his sleeve. 'Get it, take it, bag it, quick!' he hissed, doing so himself. Remus counted out the price and gave him the appropriate coin. 'And take the hood off, it's the middle of summer, stands out like anything, if you don't say nothing you'll get home all right. Listen, you want to risk your limbs jaunting around, that's fine, although I didn't think your parents were that thick, but don't come near my place, you understand me? I mean, you have to promise to' - another colourful modification - 'heaven to me, don't come around here.'   
  
Remus snatched the bag from him, rudely. 'I won't,' he said shortly. 'Trust me, it'll be a real pleasure not to!'   
  
'Keep your _voice _down - '  
  
But Remus was gone.   
  
*  
It wasn't exactly Calder's height, but something about him looked distinctly wrong when he slumped over a table and looked beaten, head in hand. Cauley always laughed at this rare show, caught by the visual awkwardness of it, but faithful wife Catty did not find it amusing: she saw it and hurried to him in concern, although she was sore in the wrists and knees from finishing off the scrubbing.   
  
'Honestly, Calder…' Squatting, she hugged him around the shoulders (which didn't exactly work) with an affectionate smile that was more maternal than matrimonial. 'You're getting worked up again.'  
  
It was a fond, running joke that Calder was a chronic worrier; it was also a joke rooted firmly in fact.   
  
'You must think I'm so stupid,' came the muffled reply. Muffled, because he was muttering. Also muffled because half of Calder's mouth was pressed against Catty's hair.   
  
Catty pulled away: love did not entirely erase the discomfort of the situation, and Calder was not accommodating her. She considered pulling up another chair but didn't, because they still had so much to do and if she sat now she didn't know how she'd ever get up again. 'Calder,' she said gently, 'why on earth would I think you were stupid?'   
  
'Luncheon,' supplied a laconic Calder.   
  
'Oh, come on!… I have five spills a day and Cauley twice as much as that. Don't be so hard on yourself.'   
  
Calder looked slightly better at his wife's vote of confidence. 'Mm, well,' he said with an inhale as he straightened, 'not exactly how a head of the house should be act, eh?'   
  
'There's no _how a head of the house should act_ about it,' snorted Catty. _For one, you don't run the place. I do. _'Now lighten up. You worry constantly. Do you remember your proposal?'   
  
Both had to smile. Calder's plans for his proposal had been elaborate and had failed spectacularly. He had finished off the day with a few tears of despair that he never forgave himself for and had confided everything to Catty when he showed up. Instead of saying 'yes', Catty had comforted him and countered his long litany of fears.   
  
But then Calder frowned. 'Hope it won't go like that tonight,' he said, prosaically.   
  
Catty rolled her eyes. 'You know, I just realised, you set a bad example; no wonder Remus overthinks. Just like you. What a family!'   
  
She laughed; Calder didn't join in. Catty could work their son into each and every conversation - except that it wasn't prudent, not around strangers, but she regularly did so with Calder and Cauley. Calder never initiated the subject.   
  
'Speaking of which, where is he?'   
  
Catty was surprised. Calder never asked of Remus's whereabouts. The last time he had voluntarily mentioned anything about him - indirectly - was one night nine years ago. It had been winter; Calder had been shivering. 'Come here,' Catty had offered: she had felt alienated lately. Calder wasn't tactile but there had been nothing for the past year, just when everything was so terrible and Catty most needed it. But Calder had given her the explanation. Things were bad enough with Remus. What if one thing led to another? They couldn't possibly bring another child into this mess. Catty had acquiesced very quietly.   
  
'Oh, I don't really know,' replied Catty now, very lightly so as not to reveal how unexpected she found the question.   
  
Calder sat up even straighter. The effect was strong: although getting along in years, he was tall and dark and always made a deep impression. 'You don't know?'   
  
'No - ' Catty broke off laughing. 'See that, Calder? Just as I was saying to you! There's nothing you can't worry about!'   
  
'Catty,' Calder said in his stern, impressive tone. 'You don't know where Remus is?'  
  
'Oh, he disappears regularly.'   
  
'Where to?' Calder's voice had grown louder in impending panic.   
  
'Calder, calm down, he's fifteen, that's what boys that age do - '  
  
'Is he _outdoors_?'  
  
'No,' and Catty's tone made it clear that she thought Calder was being ridiculous. Even by Calder-standards of ridiculousness. 'He always tells me before going outdoors.'  
  
'Not that that's such a grand idea,' Calder muttered distractedly.  
  
'Calder, what can we do, we can't deny him the right to be out, honestly! I feel bad enough I can only allow him at night.' She sighed. 'I need to go off, Briarthorn's, should have gotten ingredients for that roast ages ago now, only hope I can finish it in time - get to work, Calder, for once we're being lazier than Cauley and that's saying something…' (Which was an injustice to Cauley, who was easygoing but hardworking.)  
  
She disappeared deeper into the kitchen, sticking a pin into her hair to keep a few locks in place despite the wind. But she had no more gotten to the foyer, frowning and wondering why she was suddenly short pocket money, when she ran into Remus.   
  
Wearing a cloak, bearing sacks.   
  
'_Remus_!'   
  
'Shh!' he hissed hurriedly, pulling her by the arm to nip into one of the behind-rooms where he didn't run the risk of being seen. There was a shortcut to the kitchen from the coatcloset, and that's what they used. To Catty's enormous relief, Calder had taken her order to heart and had 'gone to work'; the kitchen was empty.   
  
'Where - what on earth - '  
  
'Everything on your list, Mam. We were running behind schedule.' Remus tried to speak matter-of-factly, but his eyes were anxious and gave him away. He stood uncertainly as he waited for the expected blow to fall.   
  
And usually it would have come, but her conversation with Calder was heavy on her mind, and Catty no more liked to be proved wrong than any mortal person.   
  
'You weren't - ?'  
  
'No, I'm in one piece, right?'   
  
'You don't - do this - _often _- ?'  
  
'No, Mam. Just today, it was a hurry and all… Last time I was out was years ago, Mam, no one would recognise me…'  
  
Catty bit her lip and made her decision. She leaned in conspiratorially - which was unnecessary, really, as Remus was taller than her - and whispered, 'This is going to be between us, understand? Your father doesn't _really _need to know…'  
  
Remus looked dazzled but incredibly pleased with this, nodding very quickly, fervently. Calder was always one to overreact…   
  
'And - Remus?'  
  
'Yes, Mam?' In fearful tones of sudden filial devotion.   
  
'Always tell me when you go outside after this, all right?…'   
  
*  
  
How come things that looked so logical at the time seemed so idiotic later? wondered a shaken Remus, who was, nonetheless, amazed at his stroke of good fortune. Let's not tell your father, indeed! Yes ma'am. And then Catty had ordered him to go off, far away from all incriminating evidence; Remus had translated that and had obligingly scatted.   
  
He kept to the side of the wall, and only in windowless hallways, but he walked rather more freely than his usual, all the same. The inn was very quiet. Remus knew that, upstairs, Edmund Quirke was in the midst of an afternoon nap, but he was reasonably certain that otherwise the place was emptied as everyone pursued whatever normal people freely did in the middle of a nice summer day.   
  
Still, you did have the Chaos Crew - what Remus had termed the occupants of the Red Room - around, and could never be sure of their seemingly random comings and goings, so Remus, with a sigh, retreated to another of his secret hideyholes. His parents' room was adjacent to what was supposedly part of the chimney. It was, but a little magic from what Remus judged to be three hundred years back got around that minor obstacle. If you squinted, you could just make out the door, but luckily few bothered to do so. Right above this room was Remus's own, but Remus wanted to avoid his room so as to ignore his conscience, or whatever it was that was telling him that he ought to be studying, that maybe everyone else had lost their heads because some Auror was coming tonight but that _he _needn't.   
  
This voice kept being countered by another voice that wanted time to savour what he'd seen in his field trip outdoors. It was more than he'd seen in such a long time, and made it difficult to start diligently pegging away at books again…   
  
But our unfortunate Remus hadn't a respite from the excitement of the day in store for him: rather, he opened the door to find his hideout - the one even his parents and Cauley didn't know about - occupied.   
  
There was a small explosion going on, but what caught Remus's attention most went by the names of Potter, Black, and Pettigrew.   
  
Respectively.   
  
There was a long silence, only broken partially by Sirius Black waving a deck of cards to put out a small fire in his hair. Distantly, Remus noted that his hand of cards seemed to have caused the explosion. That must be Exploding Snap; he'd read about it once or twice but had never witnessed the spectacle.   
  
Perhaps they expected Remus to be his usual, bitterly apologetic at interrupting them, but Remus was in no mood for hospitable courtesy. They had taken over _his _spot. They _knew _about it. No one knew about that place! Except him. And now for as long as they were there - and James Potter had made it clear that he wanted to stay most of the summer - that place was no longer safe for him.   
  
For about a decade now he had avoided everyone. Then these three came along. The bloody hell _was _this? No, Remus was angry. Irrationally so. Usually he knew why he was angry; right now he couldn't be quite sure why. But tears were prickling hotly in his eyes more heavily than they had in Briarthorn's.   
  
'How did you find this?' His voice was too even to be heavy, but, out of habit, it wasn't accusative. Yet.   
  
'Oh, we've a real talent for finding this sort of thing,' Peter said proudly. He seemed to be winning the chess game and was in good enough a mood to disregard the dislike of Remus that they had cemented during their last encounter.   
  
'You have your own room, of course,' said Remus slowly, fury cooling a little, but settling dangerously into his bones. 'Much more comfortable, I'd say…'   
  
'But this is more fun!' declared James, waving a hand happily. 'Private. Secret. Ours.'   
  
'Actually,' Remus said archly, 'mine.'  
  
Black had been the only one who had glowered at him, and now his expression grew even darker. 'Yours? _Yours_?'   
  
Remus swallowed, which seemed to finish off the anger that had saved him from despair. He now felt only defeated. What did it matter? They knew. They were trained wizards and were probably faster than him, and it wasn't as though he had experience with memory modification anyway. He could conceivably order them out, but it would be a hollow and bitter victory. 'Well, no,' he conceded, looking miserable. 'Last I checked, I never exactly copyrighted it with the Ministry…'   
  
They needed to leave really soon, only Remus couldn't afford to chase them away. James Potter was too good a customer, more profitable in the short term than Moody even.   
  
'… how'd you _find _it, though?' Remus finished, curiosity winning over antagonism and even depression. 'Not even Cauley knows about this, and he knows just about everything in here.'   
  
'Peter already said, we're good at finding out things we shouldn't,' replied Potter, with maddening superiority. He was smiling at Remus again and suddenly grew all hospitable. 'Look, I had no idea you used this or anything - '  
  
'I _told_ you the place looked too nice to be in disuse,' Black said gloomily, looking as displeased to see Remus as Remus was displeased to see him.   
  
'Yeah, see?' James seemed to think this settled something. 'I should have known. Come on in, the more the merrier.'  
  
Remus instinctively started to decline.  
  
'No, I really _do _mean it, Peter's walloping everyone at chess today, I'd really like to take a break from chronic humiliation here, c'mon, take a seat…' Potter was cajoling and so sickeningly eager about it than Remus couldn't really find a way to refuse. And he _did _need to shut the door before anyone came through. Besides, Black was glaring daggers at him and Remus couldn't pass up the challenge.   
  
'I… all right,' Remus said helplessly. These three were driving him insane, and Potter was the worst of the lot. Remus always found his defences crumbling around James Potter, and it seemed to grow worse every time they met. He closed the door, checking to see that it fitted properly, and then turned to face the music. He took James's former seat awkwardly.   
  
'There, let Pete trounce you for a little there, then you'll be all initiated, and Peter'll be happy, and then you can both join us in the card castle,' said Potter in his bossy, charming way, sitting on the floor with Black, who was keeping one eye on repairing the singed damage to his creation and one eye on Remus.   
  
Now as it happened Remus was a very good chess player, if a bit out of practice, because his parents and Cauley had gotten tired of being beaten within a dozen moves about a year ago. Pettigrew was clever and initially took the upper hand, as Remus wasn't as cautious as a less confident player would have been, but eventually Remus broke through Peter's front line and pulled off a checkmate with two nicely patterned bishops, one active knight, and a very well-placed pawn. Had his social graces been more developed, Remus wouldn't have won quite so spectacularly, but, being ignorant of such things, he relished his victory rather too visibly, and for a moment Peter was rather sore.   
  
'Bah,' he said articulately, but his next question settled the balance of respect. 'Exploding Snap?'  
  
'No,' confessed Remus freely, 'I've never played.'  
  
'Want me to teach you?' queried Pettigrew. Partly he wanted to pay him back for the battering in the chess match, but it was also a offer made at least partly in kindness: Peter had caught the wistful and somewhat abashed tone of the admission, and was satisfied with that. But then again, Peter was also thoroughly enjoying Sirius's glares, and didn't mind being on a level playing field of sorts with someone, for once; he rarely got to feel that way when both James and Sirius were around.   
  
'Please,' replied Remus formally.   
  
'Fine. Hey, James, throw us a deck.'   
  
They were working on a drawbridge.   
  
'We need it,' said Sirius.   
  
'Like hell you do,' scowled Peter, 'you must have fifty-six decks between the two of you…'  
  
'Sure, I'll give it to you,' said James amiably, 'but there's something I need to know.'   
  
'What's that?' Peter demanded.   
  
Potter gave that broad grin, as if he found it all some hugely amusing joke. 'We don't know your name yet, and let me tell you, it makes things awkward.'   
  
It took a good moment for this to sink in and for both the prospective Snap players to realise he was addressing Remus, not Peter.   
  
And Remus, for one, sincerely doubted that revealing his name would make things any less awkward; _au contraire_, the query only served to remind him of the enormity of what he was doing, what he was into. And that certainly didn't make him feel any less nervous.   
  
Oh, no. Not by a long shot.   
  
Black's aggravating glare sped up Remus's hesitation as he considered a response. 'Remus,' he replied simply.   
  
Potter seemed satisfied.   
  
Black didn't. 'Just Remus, eh? That's all?'  
  
'What else d'you want, my grandma's maiden name?'  
  
The belligerence Remus injected into his reply was rather uncalled for; Black's challenge had, at least, _seemed _neutral.   
  
Sensing that public opinion had fallen into his hands, Black pressed his advantage; even James wasn't standing up for his protégée now. 'Well, _your _name might be nice, your full name… I mean, times like these, you can't be too careful.'   
  
Remus's aid - badly needed at this point - came from an unexpected corner, not Potter but Pettigrew, who really just could not stand it. For five years how he had been lecturing Sirius Black fearfully and persistently on being wary and watchful, don't be too trusting, don't be naïve, and for Merlin's sake don't be so bloody cocky, you're a good duelist but not the best, and you never had to face real bad news caught off-guard before… and did Black ever listen to him, ever take a word seriously?  
  
Like bloody hell he was going to pull this righteous watching-my-step act _now_!  
  
'Shut up, Black, I d-didn't s-s-see you all w-woried back the night we w-were c-coming here!' He glared, looking so ridiculous that Black, contrarily, laughed, and conceded out of a mixture of pity and inability to stick with the argument, especially when amusement drove the petty anger out of him.   
  
As did Potter laugh, in a peacemaking sort of way.   
  
'Remus, is it then? Nice to meet you, and now that we've been properly introduced…' He tossed a pack of rather ordinary-looking cards. (Living in an inn, Remus had seen many, many decks of playing cards in his years.) Pettigrew caught them deftly, huffing.   
  
*  
  
For an hour Remus nearly forgot himself, and then, coming to rather sharply, he made a hasty excuse about needing to prepare for Moody's arrival. Potter showed signs of wanting to chat excitedly about Moody for a while, but Remus darted out rudely. He almost made up his mind to avoid them completely after this. It was all really quite frightening. In the little world he had constructed he had been master of nearly every corner of it, capable of meeting all the challenges he set himself. Now someone else had thrown a curveball at him, and he had absolutely no idea how to respond to it. The sudden feeling of - of - _incompetence _was unnerving.   
  
He firmly pushed them out of his mind. Sure, the hour had been very interesting, and he really almost liked Peter, but he had taken enough risks in the past day to last for another decade. That was that. The chimney room was now off-limits. Remus ventured into the kitchen, where his little field trip seemed to have been forgotten, and to the passage where he could eavesdrop on the guests in the common, which was on the other side of the hollow wall by the front entrance, behind the coat holders. Severe cases of starstruckitis seemed to have sunk its teeth into a few guests and it was rather contagious amongst a good half of them. The most notable case was a witch lecturing her companion about not falling to pieces, they were _Vances _after all, no need to act silly.   
  
She was talking the most loudly of all and had she known Remus's scorn for her, they would have lost a customer.   
  
Remus felt silly when he looked at it now, but a couple of years ago he had captured his feelings and a surprisingly accurate account of what happened when events that garnered this much excitement came around in a list entitled _Cycle of Grand Events_, written in three languages (English, French, and Latin):   
  
Phase:  
  
1) Announcement  
2) Initial Disbelief   
3) Gradual Excitement  
4) Anticipation Tempered by Speculation*  
5) Confusion  
6) Letdown  
* Optional: occurs if and only if there is a sizable amount of time between 3 and 5  
  
Specifics:  
  
1) News reaches those it concerns  
2) 'This can't be happening!', etc.  
3) As reality of event sets in  
4) Proposals, formal or informal, that voice the expectations of the event  
5) Mishaps and panic stem from last-minute concerns which are overlooked during the first four phases  
6) Event falls short of expectations or winds up not occurring at all  
  
As applied to CTI: (this isn't official)   
  
1) Generally applies to the reservation sent in by someone who is well-known, the promised visit of a relative (rare), or something in politics  
2) Mother's voice gets quite high, Cauley's gets louder than usual, and Father is of the opinion that it is too good to be true  
3) This step usually does not apply to Father  
4) Father does join on this and his dire predictions usually prove to have a grain of truth to them. During this phase he and Cauley fight more than usual. Mother is prone to acting uncharateristically. The guests are usually able to tell that something is out of the ordinary but of course if it has to do with a famous guest they're acting ridiculous as well, most notably those of the opposite sex of the aforementioned guest.   
5) Usually one of us suffers a mild to moderate malady in Panic. Once Mother worried herself ill, another time my hand was burned. Usually some breakable kitchen item is accidentally destroyed.   
6) Father often says "I thought it might be so" and Cauley tells him to shut up. Lately Mother has taken up the habit of sighing a lot but you think she might have seen this pattern by now.   
  
Those who were veterans of traveling for whatever reason were much less excitable. They had been around inns. There had been other famous guests but they'd met people whose names entered the newspapers for obituaries only who were much more memorable - unsung altruists, true cases of tragedy, elusive beauties, stalwart companies, those amazingly skilled in profanity, ironic circumstances, an unknown with calloused hands who worked the pub's piano better than anyone they'd heard on the radio, and, those who lived longest in their tales, the true comics. Alastor Moody was all very well but watching Cauley Lupin pull his ribbing act on some unsuspecting person of the same status was worth a million of the former. There was a pool going around the Crossed Tailfeathers' regulars to hire Cauley to do his routine on Moody - undoubtedly he'd be very happy to do it money or no, but it was always good to say he was paid if the victim grew too angry, and it would be a good excuse to feed his brother.   
  
Remus found Cauley highly thrilled back in the kitchen.   
  
'Don't tell your da,' beamed Cauley in a low whisper. 'He's going to make himself sick over this one, but I can hardly wait. And anyway it'll draw in even more customers so he can't complain too much. He knows it. Speakin' of which, we're getting some people from the village - measly excuses, they have, just want to breathe the same air as Moody, I'm surprised Dawson's wife let him - but I had to give up my room, so I'll be invading yours tonight. Flip you a Knut for the bed?'   
  
**TBC (**with - finally - Moody's arrival, a hitch in Remus's usual routine, some reluctant initiative on Sirius's part, and Cauley showing precisely why his guests love him so much**)**


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: Sorry, sorry, but look on the bright side. (One) of the reasons for the delay was the necessity of organizing and shuttling some of the material _to the next chapter_, which is thus half-written already. **

**Forget the synopsis of this chapter offered at the end of the last. My muses lied - to me, to you, to the organizers of world peace.**

**Chapter Four**

Alastor Moody had developed a tolerance for crowds of strangers who mysteriously turned into his best buddies out of sheer necessity. He wasn't naturally sociable. He wasn't even naturally civil, not to strangers at least, although he had picked that up after some intense nagging from several authority figures during his teens and twenties.

Villages – not small towns but dyed-in-the-woods villages – were the worse, even one step below cities, where you always had the uppity upper classes thinking that he ought to acknowledge their compliments with more than his trademark growl. He had talked to a woman who had been born and bred in Roasedaly from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad about the trip, and to his horror she could remember the names of the owners of all four of the village's inns, the number of children they had, and every scandal from the past ten years. "Mercandy's wife was my aunt Mabel," she had gone on reminiscently, "and Mrs. Catty was a friend of Mum's, and Janus Thickey was our next-door neighbour. So yeah, I knew nearly all them families."

Moody had felt the need for a drink. He thanked her, modified her memory as agreed beforehand, and spent the rest of the day trying not to do something quite so immature as sulk.

He had failed one of the Auror's character tests before redoing it all again with a more thick-skinned questioner. The first questioner had protested his presence every month for all of eight years. And although he had shut up shortly after Moody had busted a century-old black market in cats magically bred to kill Muggles, there was no denying that the word 'close-knit' always made him feel queasy, or, in his worse moods (moods! heh heh, an old favourite pun of both roommates and partners) instilled in him a nearly unbearable desire to punch the nearest and solidest of walls.

Recently that old madman Dumbledore had suggested to him that he go talk to a _therapist_. 'A what?' Moody had barked, although he had a good idea of what it was. Dumbledore said that although most were complete quacks who made money off people of great egos and weak wills, some Muggles really could aid patients in working through tendencies such as misanthropy to unlock and cure the fears causing the symptoms.

Moody, unwilling to admit that he really didn't know what misanthropy was, and not caring, told him that he was raving-insane. Dumbledore had thanked him gravely and, apparently, sincerely. And then offered him a jelly baby.

'A what?'

Calder and Remus, always the pillars of optimism, had just started to sprout off some very dark, _Cyclish_ comments at around six-eleven. 'Come on, he's not late,' Catty said brightly. 'Ten minutes! And we could use this extra time.' They really could.

'So Cauley can think of even more trouble,' Calder replied.

He was just about to say I-told-you-so at six thirty-eight when a little girl in the dining room shrieked. Catty dashed in to find her standing on an old Elizabethan chair, face pressed (and nose flattened) to the windowpane. A few others had crowded around to peer out as well. 'Is it him?'

Not a single person suffered any confusion over the antecedent. Catty rushed back to the kitchen. Cauley was already repressing a grin very poorly, Remus had already disappeared, Calder was already rushing to the door. 'It's him,' she announced, undaunted by the uselessness of the statement.

Calder took the main hallway. Totally unashamed, Catty hid in the same spot Remus had used earlier to eavesdrop on the starstruckitis victims, an old cubbyhole once used for storing wine that was placed oh-so-conveniently between the thin walls of both the entry and the common. She felt her way by the walls, unable to see, and tried not to think about how the spot was getting tight for her.

She arrived there right before Calder came into the hall. Calder, for all his nerves, was a professional and was very calm, sounding as though he had not been waiting, merely had a very competent talent for wandering into the foyer at suitable times. 'Mr Moody? Good evening to you – allow me to take that.'

'Don't touch that!' Moody snapped.

Momentary silence reigned in the entry. Catty became all too aware that her breathing was rather heavy and immediately tried to steady it.

'Yeah, good evening,' Moody said, in a calmer tone. 'Don't bother. I like to keep my coat on me.'

'As you wish. Dinner is just about to be served – ' they had put it on hold – 'but if you would rather be escorted to your room fir…'

Catty's attention tightened further as Calder trailed off. She couldn't hear Moody say a thing, but in the quiescence she could hear the very faint sounds of some of the noisier spells, and then a distinct cackling.

'Sir?' Calder sounded uncertain, probably more so than he had ever been since he was a small and nervous first-year.

'Checking the place! Been examining the outside for traces of wards and barriers. You're clean _there_. I did tell you that I'd have to ensure that this place was safe, Mr…' Moody paused. 'Laskin?' There was another silence. Calder latter informed Catty that he was staring at the scorched line Moody had made that traced a weird line all over the entry. It stood out so awfully and Moody hadn't given any indication that he would or it could rid or be ridden of.

'Sorry?' Calder said distractedly.

'Lovegood, then.'

Another short pause. Then, 'Oh. _Oh_. Lupin. Sir. Erm, are you quite done here? – not! Not that we'll get in your way…'

''Course you won't,' Moody replied, almost amiably. 'Mind answering a few questions about the structure of this place? – I'll have a lot of questions,' he added. 'But I tip well.'

'No… no, of course…' Calder's voice was growing fainter and fainter.

'Why all those nice secretive charms around the alcove over the first attic, the hollow area at the foot of your bedroom, the area between the walls of the kitchen and dining room, the space between the floor of the dining room and top of the cellar, a good third of the cellar, the stairs in the nonfunctional chimney, the thing-which-I-guess-was-once-a-closet between two of the rooms on the first floor, and several narrow passageways?'

Calder's voice was alarmed. Moody had sounded terribly businesslike, as if interrogating and intimidating a wizard in custody. 'Nothing – nefarious, sir! Those are just spaces that we don't keep open to our guests… when you share your home with so many other people – our family just feels an understandable need for some privacy – we never created those spaces, I swear! – they're pre-existing – didn't even know about some of – '

'But you must know about the conspicuous amounts of strong magic concentrated in the room that the second-floor broom cupboard takes up only one-fifth of,' Moody continued briskly. 'That's recent, Mr Lupin.'

Catty's heart stopped. She ought to be out there. Moody was referring to Remus's now-concealed room. And Calder, it would be a miracle if he handled this well…

There was no such miracle.

'It's… a bedroom… we keep privacy spells on it…'

'But your bedroom is the one next to the chimney, on the _first_ floor.'

'It's my brother's,' Calder said weakly. 'Cauley. Lives with us.'

Catty wanted to wring his neck. Surely Moody would know the location of Cauley's room as well, if he knew theirs – and, apparently, everything else there was to know about the establishment. She was rather irritated.

But evidently Moody didn't. Perhaps he had mistaken Cauley's actual room for a guest room; after all, it had been made up for once due to Moody's arrival. But that didn't mean he was finished.

'Why all the magic?'

'Well… Cauley… likes to experiment. He's a good wizard, Cauley…'

Cauley, for the record, was average, and that was only if you weren't too strict about your standards.

'With strengthening spells around a square object?'

'Look, I don't know what Cauley gets up to!' Catty almost groaned; Calder's voice was panicky. 'You're going to have to ask him!'

Catty took the hint and went to the kitchen noiselessly as she could manage to warn her brother-in-law.

Alastor had terrific hearing, but he was too intent on Lupin to hear Catty's uncatlike movements. 'Talk to me about these rumours.'

Lupin went horribly pale. Alastor had easily seized him up as a man working diligently to maintain a reputation. And now the big bad Auror had come to huff and puff and blow his respectability down.

'I ain't going to advertise anything,' Alastor said impatiently. 'Unless of course you keep lying to me. I want honest answers, or I will launch an investigation on charges of you hampering an official Auror assignment. I just need to know what happened to your son.'

The innkeeper looked around, as if expecting someone to listen. Alastor yawned widely.

'Please,' Lupin whispered. 'Please. I will tell you everything – everything! But not here. Not where everyone can hear. You have nothing to worry about, I promise you, but please, behind some of those closed doors with all the suspicious charms.'

Alastor eyed him while he considered, bearing in mind that he was hungry and could smell dinner from here. 'Under Vertiaserum.' Lupin looked overcome to the dangerous and desperate point of telling him to sod off. While Alastor thought it might do the man good to actually perform an action that required backbone, he had a task to think of. 'If everyone here's been good boys and girls here then I won't make any reports to the Registry.'

'All right,' said Lupin defeatedly. 'All right.'

'Tomorrow morning.'

'Late at night,' Lupin pleaded.

'Tomorrow night.'

'Yes.'

'Well, that's all settled,' said Alastor, in his somewhat superior tone that he knew others found annoying when he was younger, intimidating now. 'Can I have some dinner now?'

The room positively revived as Alastor entered. Especially in regards to Cauley's Own. A man resembling Lupin about the nose brought in a preservedly heated portion of what Alastor had missed. (Cauley would have fought to serve anyway, now that he had eight Galleons and twenty-four Sickles in his pocket to rib the Auror, but found the fight surprisingly easy. Calder seemed lifeless when he returned to the kitchen. That is, Cauley corrected himself, more lifeless than usual.)

'Ah yes, Britain's finest!' Cauley announced, more belligerently than his respectable and deft actions to serve. 'Trust them with the Unforgivables – never mind that they can't read a watch.'

There were snickers. Alastor's shoulders tightened instinctively as anyone under fire.

'You're Cauley Lupin?'

The server met him in the eye with an exaggerated expression of fearful defiance. 'You caint prove nothin'! I'us framed!'

More sniggers. Alastor almost scowled, but then recalled that earlier he had been mentally moaning and groaning over being treated like a god. Now, this was on another irritating extreme of the spectrum, but he might as well make up his mind to like – or at least not dislike – _some_ form of treatment.

'Where is your bedroom?'

Many sniggers made their rounds. Cauley, Alastor noted, looked unsurprised by the question.

'Uh… hmm. Gloria?'

He looked significantly at a pretty witch, who seemed positively radiant when compared to the leering specimen beside her. Gloria put a hand to her mouth – it didn't cover her grin, much less her blush.

'C'mon, Lupin,' Alastor groused. 'I'm – '

Something had shifted. Near his feet. He missed Cauley's reply.

'What's that?'

'Second-floor room. Hidden by the walls of a cupboard. Chimney runs through it.' His voice was too steady; then he grinned. 'Why, exactly?'

'D'you talk to all your customers this way?' Alastor demanded. On second thought, he'd go back to his deification.

'Hey! The Zen Buddhists have a wise sayin', Auror Moody. Never made angry the chap who brings the food.' Cauley sailed off to an appreciative round of grins, leaving Alastor free to concentrate. Something odd was afoot. _Under_foot.

He was seated at right from the head of the table, which could seat a full twenty. Near the other end a vacant chair had suddenly been filled, with an untouched plate and hastily-mussed silverware that fooled Alastor Moody not a bit. But it would have made sense if the woman sitting there had been there earlier and was _now_ gone. There was heavy magic going on underneath the table. Alastor breathed in and nearly sneezed. Unrefined magic, at that, powerful and clumsy. Not a safe combination, not an auspicious combination. He patted the coat, which he had folded over on his lap. In one pocket, a Sneakoscope was wriggling and whirling. Could mean any number of things, of course. Someone planning to cheat on their lover that night. Cauley Lupin was planning some enormous lies for his little comedy routine, perhaps. One of his tablemates could be stealing the bloody salt and pepper shakers for all he knew.

Sneakoscopes were only useful if absolutely nothing was going on when Alastor suspected that there was. Problem was, something was always going on.

Cauley Lupin burst back in through the swinging doors, with desserts. Alastor hadn't even inspected his food yet.

'You eat with your knife and we'll have to throw you out, y'know,' Cauley said briskly. 'That ain't classy.'

A few minutes later Alastor nearly sliced a section of his finger off with said knife, on account of choking, on account of his sensitive nerves getting a regular bombardment of magic. He sat up straight and randomly kicked. All along the table, heads turned to look at him with much more interest than was to his liking. He scowled gloriously at them all and ate up well, as if expecting to need the nutrients soon enough.

Nothing happened that night, nor the next day, except of course that he completely shattered the peace of Roasedaly, leaving broken glass (gaping and wild gossip) in his wake. Alastor was very unapologetic. No matter how out-of-the-way, the place had no business being peaceful the way things were currently. Murder, plots, kidnappinig, plots, curses modified beyond the boundaries of humanity, plots, hostages, plots, the falling apart of urban wizarding society, plots, mass attacks on Muggles, and, of course, plots – nothing solid, but ever-more fearsome and sophistical _potential_ tragedy, not all of which any single bureaucracy could counter, although the problem was always compounded when more than one said government attempted its hectic, frantic, fragmented defence; so many plots that it was a blue-eyed miracle not as many had come to pass as they did.

Besides, he wasn't even asking the direct questions. No, this line of business required subtlety. Couldn't just ask after who was storing a bit of asphodel. Had to hit the defences where the guilty party wasn't thinking to guard them.

And so he pounded on the doors of businesses and asked all the questions Roasedaly's entrepreneurs did not want asked, unearthing their tax cheats, scandals, and family rows ruthlessly in his search for the information he was after. He felt no particular guilt over this, because the less time spent on this front was more time spent on the other ones, for which there wasn't enough of that swift, winged time as was. Dawson, who rented brooms, lost his hero-worship after two hours interrogation over his recent customers and fled back home to his wife. At the grocer/apothecary, the Briarthorns had put out a green young teenager who worked for them part-time, who sang like a fwooper once Alastor had her good and vexed about everything he didn't care to know about. Calder Lupin was a good case in point: by the time they were done with their little chat, Lupin was only saved from crying or throwing a punch at Alastor due to the conflict between the two desires, and the effects of Vertiaserum. Although Lupin needn't have worried; Alastor had already cleared him just fifteen minutes beforehand, and that was because he finally met the object of such curiosity and strife and rumour, and was well-assured now that, despite the concerns he obviously had about werewolves in his current case, his worries did not lie with the mysterious half-there figure of Crossed Tailfeathers.

Had Remus been the sort to melodramatically consider suicide, that would have been one of the moments.

For the second time in _far_ too few days he had been caught inside of a room, and took only small comfort in that he had been caught by Alastor Moody; after all, the other time it had been James Potter – no prestige there.

Naturally, he had tried to hide, but Moody was evidently up for the game, and, after all, was famous for being the best at hide-and-go-seek in all of Britain and Ireland.

He had thought himself safe in here, because there was so much buzzing from Moody's knickknacks that he likely could have sneezed without detection by the average human ear. But Moody had been in the room for less than thirty seconds when he evidently _sniffed_ a visitor out. He withdrew his wand, while Remus's heart tried to withdraw itself by way of his throat.

'Come out and show yourself. Now. I've got a wand and learned hexes from the best.'

Remus emerged from under the table very slowly, trying not to make any suddenly moves that might earn him evidence of that quality training.

Moody startled to look down; Remus jumped as a few sparks flew out of his wand in surprise, and his head bumped the table above him, jostling everything on top. He bit his tongue, which saved his dignity from any yells.

'The hell are you?' demanded Moody, not quite amiably, although less threateningly than moments before. 'And are you the one making a habit of upsetting things from under the tables?'

Rather than answer, as common sense may have dictated someone else, Remus slowly rose to his feet. He had no idea of what to say in any case. It was one thing to lie to The Ministry Brat and Co. Quite another to try and pull a few fibs over Auror Moody. An apology tumbled out. 'Sorry, I was just here to clean and – '

'So who're you that you're cleaning my rooms?'

Remus met his eyes warily, held them as Moody took a seat without losing his wand cover on him for the barest second, but didn't say anything. Without realising it, his fingers had involuntarily twisted around the end of one sleeve and were playing with it independently of his conscious control.

Cutting to the chase, Moody supplied his answers.

'You're the Lupin boy. You're alive. And you're a werewolf.'

Something in the air with which Remus didn't reply was affirmation enough for Moody, who nodded in satisfaction. At seeing it, Remus realised that the game was up; with a sudden bout of indigestion he said, 'Yes, sir.'

'Heh.'

It was a great deal more mild a response than Remus would ever have expected at this revelation, and he chanced another look at Moody, whose wand was, shockingly and against all rumours about the Auror, lowered.

'I knew it,' said Moody in satisfaction, although his manner earlier and the extreme relief on his features spoke to the contrary. 'Just knew it. Sit down. Sit down…'

It was awkward; Remus felt and seemed as if he were discovering chairs for the first time as he obeyed.

'Your room is tucked in as part of the second-floor broom cupboard,' said Moody, who was taking a few aimless steps.

By this point Remus was numb and surprised by nothing. He affirmed it.

'_Thought_ so.' Moody sighed deeply. 'It's always so nice to be right and to be able to enjoy it. Sometimes me being right is bad news. Most timse, rather. This is a treat. What's your name, laddie? – ah. Well, you know me, I reckon. Everyone does. I'm almost useless now, you realise that? Recognition. Too much recognition. You transform here then?'

The lightning of awful realisation and nerves thereof struck him.

'Oh, go on, just _answer_,' Moody said boredly. 'I'm not going to take out an ad in the local crier.'

'Yes, but it's _spelled_, there's all sorts of magical reinforcement and it's _caged_ and all and nothing would ever _happen_ – we'd never – never – '

At long last Moody looked at him sideways, but took no further pity on him, and eventually his words died off. He either couldn't articulate it or simply didn't want to – or, most likely, wasn't even quite sure what he wanted to articulate, and, as he hadn't the years of experience necessary in overcoming such an impediment, was left, seemingly defenceless, to Moody's dubious mercies.

'And what were you doing _last_ night?' Moody demanded further.

'L-Last night?'

Oh dear God. He was stuttering. Self-esteem was suffering various blows right alongside his and his family's personal well-being.

'Yeah, you know. Last night.' Moody was endlessly helpful.

'I – was – when last night?' Midway through, he regained some poise, although his legs were still doing a woeful job of supporting him, or even registering their solidity and existence in general with his central nervous system.

Moody looked mildly amused, a man who is dueling with a rank novice, admiring the latter's progress while perfectly unconcerned. 'Oh, you know. Whenever.' He clarified idly: 'Whenever there was anything of interest.'

'I – I don't _know_.'

Shaking his head, Moody sat down as well. Then he leaned in. Horror nearly slayed Remus on the spot at this. 'Listen. D'you hear my Dark Detectors? Sure you do. Well, you're all nervous and bothered, so you probably didn't hear when they stopped whistling. One bit of truth in this whole vice-ridden edifice known as an inn. You're all right, lad. I'm totally at ease. Wish you'd be, too, 'cause you're annoying me.'

Remus had spent a decade in diligent study and had several languages besides English down pat. But they were all failing him now, as they seemed to be rather often as of late. 'Did, did – did you sense my – erm – my magic?' The last few words were something of a whisper.

'Yes! On the nose of it. Tell on. Who's been teaching you? Your parents? I don't know nothing about 'em, save your mum was a Rookwood.' He leaned back – to Remus's gratitude – and rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. 'They never struck me as the sort to be good instructors neither.'

This sent off another round of faltering semi-admissions from Remus, until at last Moody gathered, having to gruffly work for each word, that he had been taught some 'basic stuff,' and some 'reinforcement stuff' for 'erm – you know – the, uh, transformations,' and that beyond that only 'to learn to control all the rest of it and not really mess with it.'

'Damn, Lupin, no gumption,' Moody muttered a long-suffering mutter. 'No gumption at all. Knew it the second I looked at you.' Then he proceeded, in a more purposefully audible voice, to announce that he was going to go talk with the same, in such a disgusted manner that Remus feared that he was going to get his father – and, by extension, himself – into some horrible trouble. Abruptly, with a sudden loss of his aforeworn false ease, Moody left, extracting a promise from Remus to perform no more magic for a time. Remus was still tasting and weighing the words, which he didn't like, of the promise, which he liked still less, when Moody was done, with the fire cackling and the chess pieces scattered across the floor. He carefully set them back up and then slipped out soundlessly himself.

Remus was forty-five minutes away from transforming into an intrinsically and self-destructively evil creature and from undergoing the pain so excrutiating that familiarity had never yet begun to breed understanding between him and it, and his mother was telling him that he needed to clean his room soon.

So much for home-schooled children not being kept down to earth.

He wanted so much to mutter that it didn't matter, and he was certainly thinking it in the most belligerent tone at his disposal, but he couldn't actually bring himself to any higher physical activity than a few aimless steps here and there and deadened staring.

'Go ahead, Catty,' said Cauley with an attempt at gallantry. 'Have a good time of it, too.'

She hesitated. Remus helped. ''Bye, Mam.'

He could have sworn that on her way out she was saying something about 'stupid bloody astronomy circles,' and normally would have been surprised. Tonight, however, his mental shrug merely said that appearances must be kept.

But then, in the darkness barely defended against by her wand's dazzling but ineffective light, Cauley started trying to straighten out his books. Cauley's nerves always showed themselves in fidgets. Remus's just kept to themselves, emerging every so often just briefly enough to display some sort of even more antisocial behaviour. It was something Cauley told his brother and sister-in-law that he got from the milkman. As for himself, it was something he had purchased out of a mail-order catalogue.

On nights such as those, his humour ran along those shaky, even embarrassing lines. And Remus's humour ran along even shakier ones, though so few think of such withdrawn emotion in that way.

Remus set the tottering stack of Muggle textbooks to their original rights – a helter-skelter organisation of disorder – the moment Cauley's hands had left them. He looked hurt. He would regret this the next morning. Right now he wished he'd been even more brazenly rude.

'I had them like that for a reason,' he said flatly. And it was true – he did keep his studies organised by such a placement – certainly he would not have bothered just then with lies. But of course it was not said in honour of veratis just then.

Recognising his stress with near-maternal diplomancy, he dredged up an unflattened tone. 'I don't know half these things. D'you really understand those maths?'

'Yes,' he said.

Cauley looked around desperately. 'Remus,' he asked, in a too gentle voice that was not his own, 'don't you want a light on?'

No. By everything on earth one could possibly swear by, no.

He shrugged.

And then he sulked even more overtly as the overhead light violated some of his outer defences. He blinked and drew his arms around himself and looked everywhere save the niche in the corner of his room.

'We should paint in here,' he was saying, moments later, as Remus's stomach twisted. He talked about this _all the time_ and he _hated_ it. And his mind ached even worse when he thought on just how great his hatred of the painting project was… 'It's been so long. 'Member the last time we painted it you could run your hand over the wall and it would just fall off in flakes. Hell of an ugly colour we chose though. We should change it all by the end of the year, it's stupid. What colour, d'you say?'

'Time for you to leave soon.'

'It's only half an hour to,' Cauley said, effortedly even.

Again, Remus shrugged.

The moment Cauley left Remus wanted to call her back at least to hug him. That pride was more easily spit out than swallowed in his state. Instead he angrily outed the light by the pull-chain. The darkness should have comforted him – he was basing his current inner tantrum on that postulate – but it didn't. When he crawled in his equilibrium sense nearly failed him and his stomach came even closer to doing so. He curled up with nothing to do but wait for the moon to take her own sweet time… nothing to do but remember that once this same cage, which stank of saturating blood and saturating magic, had seemed so frighteningly large, and that now it seemed too damned small, and that it was never going to change, things were never going to change…

Moody had briefly noticed the boys whispering with too-conspicuous cupped hands to their mouths and their glances his way for a while. It was unexpected, finding three unchaperoned teenage boys in an out-of-the-way-place such as this. He hadn't counted on it. And, despite his profession, which dealt in quick reaction to unfavourable and changeable circumstances, he was, admittedly, of a temperament and getting to an age where a liking for the expected and a prejudice for the unexpected had a great deal of input on his reaction to sundry occurences.

For one thing, he hadn't expected them to waylay him one morning during his breakfast, taken late to avoid most of the other guests.

But he was also a responsible man, and kept his annoyance in check when the leader of the boys hailed him rather too cheerfully. Yes, hello, nice to meet them too. They were going into sixth year at Hogwarts? They wouldn't happen to be giving some good thought to the war, would they? No, they couldn't help him just now (closing up again). 'Less of course they worked hard and got into Enforcement themselves. By this point the smallest one was staring dolefully at his pudgy hands, and Moody decided that he had blundered so ineptly enough for one morning's worth of civic duty to the future generation, and managed to leave behind two other disappointed-looking boys.

**TBC**


End file.
